


Carryin' the Banner

by Rags (RedK_addict)



Series: Legacy of Robin [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Newsies (1992)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-05-12
Updated: 2010-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedK_addict/pseuds/Rags
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the boys finally learn the truth of Jack Kelly's past, they feel more than a little betrayed.  Racetrack, Spot, and Kid Blink follow him back to Gotham City, where they discover more secrets than they could ever imagine - and become entangled in the dark life he tried so hard to hide from them.  The term "carryin' the banner" takes on a whole new meaning for them as they each encounter their own challenges in persuing the legacy of Robin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I know the timing doesn't match up, but if you set Batman back some years and (yes, go against historical accuracy) bump the newsies' strike up a couple years, it's relatively plausible. I'm shocked (and honored) to learn that this is the first story of its kind.
> 
> Also, there will be absolutely NO SLASH, IMPLIED OR OTHERWISE in this fanfic. Just good ole fashioned friendships. Please enjoy. And believe me when I say that this story is indeed going somewhere. It just might take me a while to get there...

"Naw…" And all I could do was stare at him. I thought he was joking. I honestly thought he was just pulling my leg. "Naw. Yer kiddin'.

"No, Race."

They ask me all the time. "Why'd ya do it, Race?" they says. "Why'd ya leave?" But the thing is, see, I ain't the only one as went with him. I'm just the only one that stuck it out and stayed. I stuck it out because… Well, because I didn't believe him. We all thought it was some kinda real elaborate joke or somethin', and me… I wanted to know the truth about him for once.

"Naw. No. No, no, no. You're… But… But what about Santa Fe?" And no accent. Where'd his accent go?

"I've been to Santa Fe. There's nothing out there for me. Or here."

We paused a minute and faced off. He knew what he'd said. At the moment, I wasn't sure what hurt more – the fact that we meant nothin' to him after all, or that he'd kept this from us the whole time. Francis Sullivan, Jack Kelly… Just who da heck was this joker, anyways?

"So why'd ya come back, den?" I asked at last. "Huh, Cowboy? Why bodder comin' back?"

He didn't answer for a good while. Just kinda looked at me, up-and-down like. Scrutinizin'. "For the orphans," he says. "My parents were killed when I was young-"

"Save it," I says. "Lotta orphans here, Cowboy. Ya think yer story's worth more'n ours? We's alla us worse off'n dem rich folks. But not you, right?" I turned to leave. "T'ought ya said there was nothin' here for ya, anyways."

This time he answered right quick. "That's why I'm not _staying_, Race. Look, I know some of you kids are too proud to accept charity. But I also know some of you are fed up with life out here. I wanna help. That's why I came back. Anybody who wants to is welcome to go with me."

I shrugged some, shifted my feet. For some reason I couldn't look him in the eye right then. He'd hit it on the nail, alright. Bunch of us was feelin' a little bit abandoned when he'd took off a couple years back. This news just made it that much worse. After all that, he hadn't even needed to earn his way out like the rest of us.

"Racetrack." He tried to shake me outta my thoughts. Didn't need to. I wasn't that deep in 'em, I just didn't know what ta say. Or did an' didn't want to. "Race, I want you to go with me. There's nothing here for you, either. I've already talked to Spot and Blink. They're coming."

"Good for dem." I could feel my voice shake, so I didn't dare say anything more.

"So?"

"So what?" I said, shruggin' some more. I still wouldn't look at 'im.

"You comin' or what?"

And that's when I heard it. It wasn't that he didn't care 'bout us. Just that he cared about somethin' else more. Somethin' big. And for some strange reason, somethin' inside me wanted to be a part of it. After all, he was right. There wasn't nothin' there holdin' me back. Two a my friends was goin' with. And I'd finally get the answer to prolly the biggest question ever asked: Who is the real Jack Kelly?


	2. Orphans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I like my chapters to be at least 1k words long each. But I was already struggling to squeeze this much out. Anyway, I figured it'd be okay since I'm posting both the prologue and the first chapter together.
> 
> Feel special. I almost did this entire story in Racetrack's POV, complete with accent. But then I realized that writing an entire story like that would get on my nerves, especially with the grammar. So from now on each chapter will merely start from his POV. Oh, and I've started pickin' up da accent in my normal ev'ry day speech as a result a dis, so's you better be happy 'bout it...

_When Spot, Blink, and I stepped outta dat fancy automobile at the end of our long trip, we was met wit somethin' none of us ever thought we'd see. Well, maybe we'd seen our fair share peddlin' papes, but certainly not from the inside. I'm talkin' 'bout one o dem iron fences. The real fancy kind as goes alla way round a really big yard. Sure, there's a few on the edges of Queens, an' abouts. But like I's sayin', none of us'd ever seen one from inside._

"_Lorda mercy," I whispered as I pulled my cap off my head. Spot didn't say nothin'. Blink's mouth was hangin' open. Cowboy – I couldn't rightly remember what he said his real name was – he just kinda stood there an' grinned at us. By golly, was dat house ever big! Already we was startin' to forget bein' lied to…_

* * *

Bruce Wayne stood and stared at it. Just _stared_ at it for a moment. Everything was exactly the way he remembered it. Visually, of course. There had been some… improvements made, a few things put in that hadn't been in the building he had grown up in. Somehow, he loved it all the more for that fact. This was not his father's mansion. This was _his_.

"Lorda mercy." He turned to see the three boys standing behind him, staring wide-eyed and gaping at the mansion, and couldn't help but grin. Racetrack had taken his hat off and was holding it in both fists, almost reverently. Kid Blink – having only one eye to stare out of – had his mouth hanging wide open. Spot Conlon was completely silent.

Spreading his arms wide, Bruce stepped into their line of view to get their attention. "Welcome home, boys." He swept a hand in the general direction of the house. "This is your home now, all of it," he went on. "Nothing's off limits, you can go anywhere you like on the grounds."

Racetrack finally shook himself out of his trance and ran a hand through his dark hair, a little self-consciously. "S-so," he started, stuttering a little. "Anywhere, huh?" Bruce nodded. "Where we be sleepin'?"

"Anywhere you like. You can each have your own room, if you want. Or there's plenty of room for you all to fit in one comfortably."

"More so'n the lodging house?" Blink asked incredulously.

"Much more so. Either way, it's up to you." With that, he turned and led the way to the enormous front door, talking as he went. The boys quickly fell into line beside him. "If you need anything," he was saying, "just ask Alfred. Kitchen's on the first floor in the back, though, if you feel the need to help yourselves."

As they stepped inside the expansive foyer, he paused and let them look around, though they all stayed rooted to the floor just inside the doorway. "My room's the third on the left down the hall at the top of the stairs," he said, pointing to a grand flight of marble steps sweeping away to the right. "Now, that room _is_ off limits at ridiculous hours."

Blink's snicker was met with a smack from Racetrack's hat. Spot brought his cane up to rest casually on his shoulder, initial shock clearly dissipating. "So," the Brooklyn ringleader said at last. "You expect us ta work?"

"Not at all," Bruce answered immediately. "Like I said, Alfred is here to provide anything you want." He paused a moment, considering, then decided to go on. "I may enroll you in school when the summer's over, but we'll see how things go til then."

"_You_ enroll _us_?" Race scoffed. "Hey, Cowboy, just how old are you, anyway?"

* * *

"Twenty-seven!" Racetrack paced up and down the length of the room while Spot sat on the giant canopy bed and watched. "Twenty-seven. An' he passed hisself off as seventeen! An' we believed him!"

"Di'n he say he was a runaway just the same?" Spot asked calmly.

"And an orphan, to boot." Race swatted at Blink, who had been picking through the wardrobe for the last few minutes and pretending not to listen.

"Ah, whadda _you_ know 'bout it?" Race muttered.

"More'n you!"

"Hey! Hey!" Before the two could start a scuffle, Spot stepped between them and held Race back with his cane. "Blink was beat at da orphanage, and you was abandoned by yer mother. Ya both know dat, so no reason ta be flingin' insults around. So his parents was shot. So what if he got him a big house an' a heap o' money from it? Dat don't make him no less an orphan than either o' you's."

Albeit reluctantly, Race went back to his sullen pacing. Blink scowled and turned his attention back to the contents of the wardrobe. "If you's feelin' dat bad about it," Spot went on, "den might I suggest you demand he show us around town? Makin' 'im tell da truth 'bout himself for once'll make ya feel better." Race muttered something incoherent in reply. "Or," Spot mused, "if not, we could always… I dunno, find _some_ way ta amuse ourselves while we's out'n'about."

There was a pause in the pacing as the three boys exchanged glances. A dark grin of satisfaction grew slowly on each face until the trio fell to rowdy laughter at the insinuation.

If nothing else, they were in for an interesting time.


	3. Big Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while. Sorry about that. I hate writing things in order sometimes, cuz I have ideas for where this story can go, but I can't do it until I get the boring introductory stuff out of the way first. That and, until you know how to get there, you kinda can't get where you're going. Anyway, this chapter shoulda been a heck of a lot more fun, but in all truthfulness it gave me nothing but grief. All three of my boys went completely silent on me (except for Racetrack, who decided he was gonna screw around with one of the other stories I was writing), so I was stuck trying to come up with stuff on my own. And then Spot finally got talkative near the end, which I'm not sure is necessarily a good thing, and somewhere in the process of trying to reconcile Bruce Wayne and Jack Kelly, I think I may have lost them both... Hopefully it won't stay that way, and when I start actually writing him as Batman, it should get better. But for now, this is what I've got. Those of you familiar with the Batman mythos will know precisely where I'm going with this once you read this chapter. If you don't, well you're in for a great treat, aren't you? Enjoy.

_Cowboy was as good as his word. Neither of us had to lift a finger durin' da next couple'a days. Al, da butler, was a good sport 'bout it, if nuttin' else. An' me, I actually started gettin' used to da whole idea. The other two… Well, I weren't real sure where dey stood on da issue. Whether we was s'posed ta be enjoyin' it or not, I mean._

_It was a good while b'fore Cowboy was up ta takin' us out. Said he had some business he needed ta take care of first. We din't know what he was talkin' 'bout at da time. All we knew was he slept real late ev'ry mornin', an' din't come home til real late at night. We din't see a whole lotta him dos first couple'a days._

_But finally, by 'bout da t'ird day, he'd turned his attention back ta us. An' we all four went on a liddle excursion to his place of work… Big mistake, Cowboy._

* * *

Racetrack tugged uncomfortably on the vest of his suit and groaned as the three boys waited outside the boardroom. "How long's he gonna take in dere?" he whispered, not quite sure why. Just something about the somber silence made him unwilling to break it.

Spot twirled his cane and shrugged, glancing over at the secretary as he answered. She wasn't looking. "Dunno. But he didn't exactly tell us ta stay put now. Did he?"

With an answering shrug, the Italian orphan fingered his collar. "Dats true." He turned to Blink. "So, what on da tour list looked innerestin' enough to skip ahead to?"

"Well," Blink said with a smirk. "I always felt it best to start at the bottom and work your way up."

A knowing grin spread on Spot's face. "Research an' Development?"

"Research an' Development," Blink answered with a nod.

Shifting his gaze back to the secretary once more, Spot rose casually to his feet and stretched, tapping his cane on the floor a couple times before strolling off in the direction of the stairs. She still didn't so much as glance in their direction. The other two followed him as he wound his way through empty hallways and down flights and flights of staircases, keeping out of sight as much as possible. It came easy to him, having lived on the streets of Brooklyn for so long. The encountered few other people as they went, and nobody who stopped them with questions of any kind.

When they finally reached the basement – after getting lost once and ending up in Archives on the third floor – Spot tapped the sign on the wall next to the heavy metal door. "Here it is, boys," he said triumphantly.

Blink grinned as he pushed the door open slowly. It made a soft groaning sound as it swung open, but there didn't seem to be anyone around to hear it, so the three boys stepped inside.

"Whoa…" Blink breathed as the florescent lights flickered on. Race hung back uncertainly by the door.

* * *

"Did you see three boys out here?"

"I saw them when you walked in, Mr. Wayne, but I didn't happen to see where they went," the secretary answered without looking up, completely engrossed in her paperwork.

Bruce let out a frustrated sigh. He'd had a feeling the boys might be a little put out at being ignored for the past few days, but it couldn't be helped. And he certainly hadn't expected them to run away. Unless…

With the secretary still not paying him any attention whatsoever, he picked up the phone and quickly dialed. It rang for a moment, and then, "Fox, R&amp;D," came the voice at the other end.

"Hey, Lucius, can I ask you something?"

* * *

"A Mr. Grayson, a Mr. Todd, and a Mr. Drake," Lucius mused to himself. Bruce shifted impatiently. "Well, I don't know about that. But we do have something of a situation here. I was actually just about to call you down to have a look."

The young billionaire exhaled heavily and ran a hand down his face as he followed Lucius Fox through the thick metal doors to the basement. Maybe bringing them out here had been a mistake, after all. "I should've left them with Alfred," he muttered under his breath. Lucius didn't seem to hear him.

As soon as they stepped into the vast storage room, Bruce knew he was finished searching. The place was an absolute mess. Storage containers had been toppled over, pried open, and their contents scattered over the floor. A tangled knot of grappling cables ran a web across the pathway between what were once neat stacks of boxes. A few of the cables stretched away who-knew-where into the rafters.

Running over to one seemingly-untouched crate, Bruce allowed himself a breath of relief. "At least they haven't gotten into the explosives yet."

"Would you like me to call security?"

Bruce shook his head, setting his jaw. "They're with me. I'll deal with them myself."

Lucius just stood and gazed around in wonder at the destruction. "It looks like a tornado swept through here," he mused. "Just who did you say these boys were, again?"

"Just some orphan boys I picked up off the street," Bruce shrugged. "The adoption forms are still going through, but officially their names are Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, and Timothy Drake."

"Teenagers?" Bruce nodded. "And what on earth would posses you to pick up three random teenage boys from the streets and bring them in here, unsupervised?"

That was when they heard the screech of rubber. The two men shared a momentary look of disbelief before Bruce shoved the older man out of the way. Seconds later, the prototype tumbler skidded around a corner and came to a shrieking halt – precisely where Lucius had been standing but moments before. The cockpit slid open to reveal three very shocked – and slightly apologetic – faces.

* * *

"Extra! Extra!"

The three sullen figures trudged along in silence behind a rather irate Bruce as they made their way down the block to where Alfred was waiting with the car. The familiar sounds of a busy city swirled around them as the bright summer sun beat down on them from between the tops of the tall buildings.

After several moments of uncomfortable silence, Spot hurried forward to walk beside Bruce, though he had some difficulty keeping up with the other's angry strides. "Look, Cowboy—"

"Don't call me that," Bruce interrupted without so much as a pause in his step, keeping his gaze forward.

"Come on now, Cowboy. Lighten up, willya?"

"That's not my name, Dick."

Spot stopped in his tracks, glaring. "It's Spot."

"Not anymore."

With a low growl, he stalked back to his place beside Bruce. "Look, I dunno what yer problem is. It ain't like anybody got hurt."

At this, Bruce wheeled around to face him, so fast it brought all three of them up short. "No, but somebody could have. You have no idea how dangerous that equipment is. One of you could easily have put an eye out or something."

Blink gave a snicker, which earned him another smack from Race. "Whaddaya laughin' at, Kid? Dis whole thing was your lousy idea in da first place."

This elicited a death-glare from Kid Blink. "Well, at least I still got my sense a humor, _Racetrack_. Or did ya swap out with Skits before we left the lodgin' house?"

"Boys!" Bruce shouted, holding up his hands for silence. Once he got their attention, he took a deep breath before continuing. "Listen, I didn't force any of you to come with me, alright? I offered. There's still a bunch of legal stuff that's gotta go through the system, and it's going to take some time to adjust." Race rubbed his thumb across his upper lip and glared at Blink, unwilling to look Bruce directly in the eye. Bruce ignored them and went on. "As soon as the paperwork goes through, I'll be your legal guardian. But even after that, I'm not gonna sit around and tell you what to do and what not to do. I am saying this, though. I'm responsible for you three. I just want you to please be more careful. Deal?"

Spot shrugged, glancing around at the other two before turning back to Bruce with a smirk. "Whatever ya say, Jacky-boy."

The billionaire groaned slightly in frustration. "And _please_ call me Bruce."

"Sure t'ing, Jacky-boy."

Even Race had a hard time keeping a straight face as a thoroughly flustered Bruce turned and led them down the street. As they passed a dirty, ragged newsie on a street corner, the Italian boy slowed, fingering the two coins in his vest pocket. "Extra! Extra!" the boy was shouting, holding up his paper. "Five dead, two cops! Gordon blames vigilante!"

"Hey… Hey, Cowboy!" Race called over his shoulder. But the other three were already far out of earshot, and almost out of sight. "Eh, what da heck," he shrugged, pulling out a nickel. He took two papes and let the kid keep the change, scanning the headlines as he hurried to keep up.

"Extra! Extra!" the kid kept shouting behind him. "Vigilante to blame for deaths! Batman branded a killer!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. My biggest dilemma with this chapter was: Put out Kid Blink's other eye to advance plot, or possibly save that til later? Guess you can figure out what I settled on. I think it worked out okay in the end. I'm trying real hard to develop a main character here, but Blink's just too pushy, and Spot's gotta be the center of attention at all times, and well... Race is just too short to stick up for himself. Anyway, thanks to Eavis for reviewing. You have no idea how much I appreciate that. If you're reading this right now, I don't care who you are, you'd better review. It's freakin' three a.m., and I'm discouraged... *strangles Blink, simply for being uncooperative*
> 
> P.S. Can you tell I've seen the movie a couple more times since I started this? *facepalm*


	4. Dark Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, after much struggling and writer's block. First the boys wouldn't cooperate, then Alfred wouldn't cooperate... I ended up having to get out a bullwhip (many thanks to Master Warious for that) and a crowbar *hinthint*. Anyhow, finally, here is the next chapter. Though I don't know why I just said "finally" because I'm actually notorious for not updating for like forever... Hope you guys like this next chapter. It's gonna start getting really interesting now. Like, I'm getting excited thinking about it.

_Just before we'd left New York, we'd started hearin' stories from Gotham 'bout dis Batman freak. News 'bout Dent an' da clown had just hit da headlines when Cowboy came back for us. I dunno 'bout nobody else, but when I heard he was headin' in dat direction, it only made me all da more curious._

_Mosta what hit da papes in New York was speculation – who is da Batman? Is he a good guy or a bad guy? Does it really matter? To us newsies, it didn't. He sold papes fer us wit' dose headlines, and he made fer some pretty good late-night ghost stories at da lodgin' houses. But udder'nat, weren't none of us really cared much who he was or what side he was on._

_Boy, if we – Spot, Blink, and I – if only we'd known how much we'd come ta care. If only we'd known how much da whole t'ing was 'bout to affect us all. Maybe we woulda stayed in New York after all. In the end, though, I'd like ta think I'd do it over again…_

* * *

"Listen ta dis," Race announced, lounging on Spot's large canopy bed with the newspaper opened up in front of his face. Spot was leaning over Kid Blink's shoulder as the blonde orphan read the same article in the second copy, the two of them seated comfortably on the floor. Race went on. "'The masked vigilante known as the Batman has finally come to the attention of Gotham City Police, it seems, as newly appointed Commissioner, James Gordon, named the caped crusader as the prime suspect in recent murder cases, including those of two officers from GCPD, late Monday night in an emergency press conference. The murders, Gordon stated, were closely tied to the Harvey Dent case, though whether the Batman himself also murdered the late District Attorney, he wouldn't say.'" He leaned forward so he could talk over the paper and shoved a cigar in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "You b'lieve dat?"

"It's in da papes, ain't it?" Spot muttered, not taking his gaze from the article.

"Yeah, but you an' me both, we know dat don't mean nuttin'." Race shuffled the pages of his paper and leaned back once more, scanning through the article. "Whaddaya t'ink a dis… dis Bat-guy? I mean, whaddaya know about 'im?"

"Just what da papes say."

The door gave a groan as it opened, and Race jumped at the unexpected sound. Hot ashes fell from the cigar into his lap due to the sudden movement, making him yelp as he jumped clear off the bed. "My apologies, Master Drake," Alfred chuckled as he strode in with a tray of sandwiches. "In the future, might I suggest not smoking?"

"Yeah, yeah," Race muttered, snagging a sandwich before Alfred set the tray down on the desk in the corner.

While the boys were momentarily distracted, the butler disposed of the cigar out the window. "Master Wayne seems to be in a rather sour mood since your return from the city," he commented casually. Blink muttered something about stating the obvious, so Race knocked him upside the head. "Apparently you boys got into some mischief down in R&amp;D. Or so he tells me."

"We didn't mean ta cause no trouble," Spot growled.

"You kiddin'?" Race interrupted. "Of course we did. I'm sick'a bein' lied to. I wanted ta get even."

"Ain't he apologized enough fer dat? Come on, Race, ya got even. Now let it go."

"Naw, I ain't close ta gettin' even." The little Italian's face was practically livid. Alfred just stood aside and watched, waiting for the tension in the room to settle.

"If ya ask me, I'd say ya got you's a trust problem." Blink ducked this time when Race made a swing at him. "Whaddaya say, Spot? You'd almost think he takes it some kinda personal or somethin'. Like he was the only one got his feelins hurt." Spot brought his cane down between the two before things could get out of hand. There was murder in Racetrack's eyes as he sat on the floor, glaring at them.

It was then that Alfred finally spoke up, his voice ringing out in the spacious room like an old British grandfather. "If you ask me, bringing you three out here and showing you his life should more than make up for any hard feelings. And it proves just how much he cares for you. He's been trying very hard to help you boys adjust, and he doesn't make it a habit of letting anyone close to him these days. To hear him going on about you, one would think you were long-lost brothers of a sort. So, in a way, you should feel honored."

"Honored dat he lied to us?" Race spat.

"Honored that he let you in so soon after a tragedy, instead of shutting you out." When this elicited no immediate response, he went on. "He's not likely to tell you this himself, but I think it's something you boys should know. He's a lot closer to this whole Batman business than he lets on." This caught the boys' full attention, as he knew it would. "Rachel Dawes was a childhood friend of his, and very dear to him. She was killed by the Joker during the whole Harvey Dent incident."

A somber silence fell in the room. Race suddenly found the rug very interesting. "He love her?" Spot asked softly.

Alfred paused a moment, glancing between the three of them. "Very much so." As he turned toward the door, his voice took on an admonishing tone. "Might I also suggest, Master Drake, that you focus less on 'getting even', and perhaps a little more on helping _him_ to adjust."

After the door closed behind him, there were a few more moments of silence before Spot went back to browsing through the newspaper articles. Race hoisted himself up onto the edge of the bed and sulked. Blink was just opening his mouth to say something, when Spot's excited voice cut him off.

"Hey. Hey, hey! C'mere. C'mere, lookit dis." He was pointing frantically to a blurry photo attached to an article about late-night sightings of the Batman.

Race scowled at the picture for a moment. "Looks like some kinda black car or somethin'," he muttered. "What you so excited for?"

"It's da thing," Spot hissed. "From R&amp;D."

Race's eyes went wide as he snatched the paper from Spot's hands, holding it close to get a better look. "Naw…" he whispered. But there was no mistaking it. He quickly scanned the article, searching for something, anything, to disprove it. The description matched up.

Blink just shook his head. "Well, Al did say Cowboy was closer to this whole Batman thing than he let on. Maybe that's what he meant."

"Wait a minute. Maybe what's what he meant?" Spot asked suddenly. "What exactly are we sayin' here?" Race was completely speechless.

"Well, I mean, I ain't sayin' nothin' til I see somethin' more solid. I's just sayin' what it looks like, that's all. You's the one that pointed it out in the first place."

"Ya wanna go snoopin' t'rough here lookin' fer proof? Whaddaya, stupid? He'd t'row us out right quick."

Proof. Without waiting for Blink's response, Race tossed the paper aside and slipped out of the room, muttering something about heading to bed.

* * *

Heart pounding in his ears, Racetrack stood in the center of the large study and stared at the old grandfather clock. It was too easy. There had to be something more to it. It was just too easy! And yet, with his bedroom directly across the hall, how many times had he heard those chimes softly clanging in the middle of the night? "Dis is such a bad idea," he mumbled as he stepped forward. For several moments he just stood there in front of it, heart racing, trying to quiet his breathing as he listened for any noise that might give him away.

When, after several long, agonizing minutes, the silence hadn't been broken – even by so much as a tick from the clock – he reached his hands up to the left side of the wood paneling, hooked his fingers around the back, and pulled. The wood groaned slightly as it budged away from the wall. He froze, straining his ears to pick up any other sounds. Nothing else stirred. He gave another yank and the clock rolled free from the wall – revealing the hidden doorway he'd been looking for.

The passageway was low and narrow, leading a few feet back into the wall to an old pulley-system elevator made of metal grating. Race leaned forward and gazed through the floor of the elevator into darkness. A shuddering chill ran up his spine. "_Such_ a bad idea," he growled to himself as he stepped onto the elevator and threw the lever to lower himself into the dark chasm. The metal creaked a little, but gave no further noise as it lowered him slowly into the inky blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know where else to go with it, so I figured I'd just end it there and pick it up in the next chapter. Kid did a bit more talking this time around (as opposed to just getting slapped constantly... I honestly don't know where that comes from), but I think Race is also stepping up to his role as the main character in this story, which is good, because I was starting to worry for a while there. I'm sorry, I think Nightwing is great, and Jason is an incredibly interesting character, but Tim Drake has always been my favorite Robin (I sound like a total dork now...). Anyway, I promise it will get more interesting. The first person narrations at the beginning will also probably get much longer. And for the record, I've already started on a sequel... *sheepish* I just couldn't help myself, the prologue just kinda popped into my head, so I had to write it down before it went away again. But yeah, hope you liked this chapter.


	5. Fingers Crossed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just got the crap scared outta me when I sees dis freakin' huge spider come crawlin' out from under my laptop an' across my bed at me. But irrational fears aside, here's da next chapter! (Please excuse da Brooklyn. I started on da next chapter, an' ya know how writin' in Race's POV gets me goin'...) Anyhows, I know I said that the action and interesting stuff was gonna start. But that was before I knew that the boys wanted to apologize to Bruce first. I hate filler chapters. This was definitely not one of my favorites. I have a feeling, though, that the next one will be. By the way, guys, if I haven't made it blatantly apparent who's who here, I'm sorry. I intended to, so simply for clarity's sake, here it is all spelled out for ya:  
> Racetrack Higgins - Timothy Drake  
> Kid Blink - Jason Todd  
> Spot Conlon - Richard Grayson  
> Okay, enough rambling, hope you guys enjoy! And hopefully the next chapter won't take so long coming...

_I still can't believe I got away wit' it. I was scared outta my mind, but I just had ta know. Don't ask me how I knew it'd be dere, cuz I got no clue. I guess my luck was just holdin' out a little more'n usual. But dere it was, at da bottom of da shaft. A big, open cave full'a da same equipment an' stuff we'd seen at R&amp;D. Da car-thing weren't dere, but neither was da Cowboy. I guess he was out for da night._

_Da lift had landed on a cave floor, an' all around me was all kinds'a bats. I remember Cowboy mentionin' he had some kinda problem wit' bats. Ironic, ain't it? I remember da one time I saw him really, seriously freaked out, we was walkin' back to da lodgin' house pretty late one night, an' dis bat come flyin' down an' smacked him in da head. It was kinda funny watchin' him start wavin' his arms around like it was gonna bite him or somethin'. He soaked me good for laughin', told me dat it had a lot to do wit' his folks dyin' when he was real young, an' I had no right ta laugh. Lookin' back now, I shoulda drawn da connection sooner._

_But all da same, da connection'd been made, an' I knew t'ings was gonna be real different now. I didn't say nothin' ta Spot or Blink til da next mornin'. T'ink I was still in shock or somethin'. But when I did tell 'em, dey flipped. I knew dey would._

_Den I reminded 'em what Al had said da night before, 'bout helpin' Cowboy adjust. An' about Rachel. An' da t'ree of us, we decided ta have us a little talk wit' him. Me personally, I still had no idea how ta cope wit' alla dis. Part'a me wanted ta keep feelin' betrayed…_

* * *

Bruce Wayne sat in his favorite sitting room, in a brown leather easy chair, and watched the sunlight play off the crystal chandelier onto the floor. The lazy afternoon sun streamed in from the enormous bay windows, trickling over the crystals and spilling over the expensive Indian rug in a splash of brilliant colors. Absently, he sipped at his tea and watched the miniature rainbows dance across the floor. Something had changed. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but the atmosphere in the manor had altered somehow.

Maybe it was the tensions from the day before. He'd been meaning to talk to the boys since they got home, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to face them. He felt guilty about all of this, for some reason. And he was embarrassed to admit that maybe it had been a mistake to bring them here in the first place. But what was he to do now? Throw them on the streets? He shook the thought out of his head immediately. There was no way his boys were going to end up back on the streets. Not if he had anything to do with it.

But something had to be done about them. Mischief he could handle, and had been handling for years. But when it was directed at him as a means of retaliation, that was a little harder to swallow. Okay, maybe he had overreacted just a little bit after the R&amp;D incident. But honestly, could anyone really blame him? These were his boys.

A soft knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts. "Come in," he said gently. The door opened slowly to reveal the three boys standing awkwardly in the doorway.

There was some shuffling and debate as to who would enter first before Racetrack was shoved rather unceremoniously into the room, followed closely by the other two. "Heya, C-- uh, Bruce," Race stuttered. There was an awkward pause as he glanced back to the other two for support. Receiving very little, he went on anyway. "Look, we just wanted to apologize fer yesterday. It ain't right, treatin' ya dat way. I mean, afta you's took us in an' all."

"Especially after Rachel," Blink offered.

Bruce's eyes snapped up to meet his suddenly, causing the boys to step back. "Who told you about Rachel?"

"Al did," Spot said quickly. "He wanted ta show us we ain't got no right ta be upset wit' you for lyin' to us."

"Yeah," Blink agreed. "Even if ya do kinda keep some really big secrets."

Race wanted so badly to smack Blink when he saw Bruce's eyes narrow, but he knew it wouldn't help matters any. "And what do you mean by that?" Bruce asked coldly.

Suddenly, Blink and Spot fell completely silent, glancing at Race to fish them out. _Great,_ he thought to himself, rolling his eyes. _Why's I gotta do everythin'?_ "Well," he began, his voice shaking. "We know you's… I mean… I… And the…"

Spot tapped the stuttering Italian rather painfully on the shoulder and finished for him. "We know you's da bat everyone's been talkin' about."

A brief flash of panic crossed Bruce's face, but the boys caught it. "How do you figure?"

"Well," Spot went on, tapping Race again. "Ol' Lucky Streak here himself foun' da cave last night. An' we saw da car in da papes, too. We just kinda drew da line from dere."

"Ya know we ain't stupid, Jack," Blink said quietly. "So don't be treatin' us like we are."

For once, Bruce said nothing about his name. Instead, he sat silent for a moment, regarding the faces of the three boys. "Yeah, I do," he said at last. "But I didn't want you to get mixed up in this."

"We ain't lookin' ta get mixed up in nuttin'," Spot said quickly. An odd look crossed Blink's face, but nobody seemed to notice. "We's just lookin' fer da truth."

"An' not da improved version," Race added with a snort.

Bruce gave a resigned sigh. "All right. What do you want to know?"

A triumphant grin spread slowly on Spot's face. "Well, first of all, it says in da papes dat you's involved in da murder a five people. An' two of 'em bulls, ta boot. What's your side'a da story?"

"Harvey Dent killed them."

"The DA?" Blink stared incredulously with his one good eye. Bruce nodded. "I thought he cleaned up the mob…"

"He did. But then the Joker…" He drew a stuttering breath before continuing, keeping his eyes trained on the glittering rainbows on the rug. "Rachel was Dent's girl. To a point. The Joker knew she was also very close to… to me. And he… He gave us a choice – me and Gordon – made us decide which one we were going to save. We… We chose wrong. We tried to save them both. We got Harvey out, just barely, but Rachel… Rachel didn't make it. After that, something in Harvey snapped. He started killing off the people responsible, the ones who were involved in the Joker's twisted plot."

"Did you stop him?" Blink asked.

"Only after the damage had already been done to his reputation. And there was no way I was going to let everything he'd accomplished go to waste."

Realization dawned on Spot. "So ya took da rap for da murders. Ya had Gordon blame you instead'a him."

Bruce nodded again, glancing up at them with grief-stricken eyes. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to lose any of you the same way."

Keeping his gaze firmly on his feet, Race shuffled forward slightly. "Hey, Bruce, um… Look, I know I ain't been da best sport 'bout all dis, an' I'm sorry. An' I just want ya ta know dat I's gonna try ta do better. Ya know, adjustin' an' all."

A small smile crept momentarily across Bruce's face before he became dead serious again. "I don't want any of you getting involved in any of this, you hear? I mean it."

"Sure t'ing, Bruce," Spot assured him. Race nodded his agreement.

"Promise!" A lopsided grin tugged at the corners of the blonde boy's mouth. Nobody seemed to notice his hand tucked neatly behind his back.

Fingers crossed.


	6. Red Hood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated for some time whether to post this as-is, or to expand on it some more in the morning when I have time for lengthy dialogue and advancement of plot. Then I remembered that I hadn't updated in a while, the chapter was over 1k words already, it was in a nice stopping point, and I really don't want to advance the plot too quickly. So I broke down and posted. Please enjoy!

_Da first night Kid Blink went missin', neither of us t'ought much of it. It w_ _as a couple'a weeks afta da whole t'ing went down at R&amp;D. Da t'ree'a us was gettin' usedta bein' dere, and we'd each kinda started doin' our own t'ing. Ya know, driftin' apart a bit. So dat night, when Blink didn't get back in til real late, we didn't do much thinkin' 'bout it. Guess we shoulda known he'd do somethin' behind our backs, ya know, kinda one-up us. Least, I shoulda known._

_It weren't really til da fourth or fifth night we really noticed somthin' was goin' on. And it weren't in a row, neither. But dey was gettin' more frequent, and dat night we was readin' in da papes 'bout some new vigilante kid callin' himself da Red Hood. For some reason, Blink was real smug about it. Dat's when we first knew somethin' was up wit' him._

_I knew we shoulda said somethin' 'bout it ta Cowboy, but Spot wouldn't let me. Said dat Cowboy would figure it out soon enough, an' dat he wanted ta see how t'ings panned out anyways. Me, I was too busy tryin' ta figure out which was worse: Goin' behind Spot Conlon's back, or goin' behind Bruce Wayne's. Cuz we was findin' out real quick dat, even wit'out da whole Batman t'ing, he was a pretty powerful guy in Gotham. Ya don't cross Bruce Wayne. Ya just don't._

_But Blink's more'a da impulsive type. He don't always think 'bout t'ings like dat. He just _does_. An' we all knew it was gonna get him in trouble someday. We just didn't know it was gonna be so soon…_

* * *

_ ** BANG! ** _

The shot went off loud and clear, shattering the nightmarish quiet before anyone had a chance to move or react. A single ceramic mug clattered to the floor, spilling its contents and shattering, as the body tumbled backwards and smacked into the coffee table. Then the screaming started. There was blood everywhere. And that guttural, nerve-grinding cackle.

Barbara Gordon hadn't been working with Bruce for very long. Truth be told, she was technically still in training. But that didn't matter much now, because that gunshot had just marked the end. She was done. At this point, she'd be lucky if she lived through the next twenty-four hours, let alone ever fought alongside the Caped Crusader again. And the funny thing was, the Joker was trying to get at _Gordon_. The clown hadn't even had a clue about who she was.

Neither had Kid Blink. Bruce had been very careful about keeping Barbara far away from the boys. In fact he hadn't even told them about her. The last thing they needed was any kind of encouragement. But Blink knew who the Joker was, and he knew that the Joker had just shot somebody, and that this somebody had been a member of Commissioner Jim Gordon's family. And at the moment, that's all the information he needed.

Perched precariously on the rooftop across the street from the Gordon residence, Blink fiddled with the "borrowed" equipment on his belt and watched as the grisly figure vanished into the night, maniacal laughter filling the dark streets. An excited grin split beneath his make-shift red mask as he stood and began to follow. For the past couple of weeks, he'd been busting small-time crooks and petty criminals. But this time, it looked like he was getting a chance to catch some bigger game. He knew well what the smart thing to do was. As soon as he heard the gunshot, he should have gone straight to Bruce about it.

But Blink didn't always do the smart thing. Besides, he wanted to prove that he could do this stuff just as well as anybody. And he had this theory about the real reason Bruce had brought them out here in the first place…

As he ran along the rooftops, following the Joker down a dark alleyway, his mind was decidedly fixed on how proud Cowboy would be when he turned in the Crime Clown himself. Not to mention how jealous Spot and Race would be. Otherwise his foot might not have slipped. And possibly he might not have hit the fire escape with a loud _clang_ on the way down. And it's conceivable that he'd have had more of a chance actually facing the Joker with the element-of-surprise plan that he'd been cooking up.

Unfortunately that's precisely what happened. He landed – relatively unhurt – on the ground behind the fleeing crook, giving out a loud grunt as he did so. The Joker stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the sound, turning slowly around to face the would-be adversary. He let out a grating chuckle when he saw who it was. "Hey, I know you," he quipped, his voice almost silky smooth. "You're that little brat who's been running around town trying to play bat. What is it the press has been calling you? Red Head?" And he burst out laughing.

Blink's fists shook with anger and embarrassment as he pushed himself to his feet. When he responded, he tried to sound confident, though in reality, with his plan no longer viable, he was feeling more than a little apprehensive. But he'd come this far already, so… "Look here, clown face. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Nodding in mock seriousness, the Joker paced casually around. "Oh, tough guy, eh? And just how did you plan on apprehending me?"

Blink resisted the urge to growl in frustration. The Joker was on his left now, and outside his limited range of vision. He _could_ turn his head all the way in order to keep the clown in his line of sight, but he was pretty sure that'd give away his weakness. And he was not about to let the Joker get that advantage. He'd ditched the eye patch in exchange for the mask, hoping to keep his identity safe that way. But truth be told – and yes, some people _had_ wondered – he was completely blind in his left eye.

The fact that the Red Hood's eyes were no longer trained on him must have tipped off the Joker anyway, though, because he stood right where he was and laughed again, mockingly this time. "Admit it, kid," he said when he'd finally caught his breath. "I'm way out of your league."

That's when his temper snapped. In a desperate rage, he grabbed the first thing on his belt that he could reach and threw it in the general direction of the Joker's voice. Unfortunately this was probably the worst decision he'd made all night, for several reasons. The first of which was that the first thing he happened to grab off of his impromptu equipment belt was a flash grenade. The second would be that the Joker was ready for such action. The third was that he had misjudged the distance between himself and the Joker to begin with.

They were much too close.

Blink never saw what actually happened. If he had, there wouldn't have been much he could do about it anyway. In his mind, the flash grenade simply detonated too early. But whether it really had detonated early, or the Joker caught it and tossed it back at his face, didn't really matter in the end. The result would have been the same. There was a piercingly bright flash of light, and a harsh ringing in his ears, and the next thing he knew he was plunged into darkness. For several agonizing moments, he couldn't tell if he'd actually blacked out or not.

And then the sharp, burning pain started in his right eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone reading this was not aware, Red Hood was Jason Todd's alter ego after his resurrection, since Tim Drake had taken over the role of Robin by then. It was also (ironically) the Joker's original alternate identity, the very one he was posing as when he fell into the vat of chemicals that made him what he is today. Just a little nod to comics history for ya. Hope you enjoyed it, and hope to hear what you think! I know it was short, and I know it cut off early, but now that I have decided to, in fact, continue on with this point in the plot, the next chapter will be much shorter in coming. I promise.


	7. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look! Finally, an update. And a long one, at that. This chapter went absolutely nothing like I wanted it to. I was rather disappointed, because Race seems to be in a bad mood, and for some reason he and Spot seem to be at odds, because I literally had to force them to speak to each other, and even then it wasn't very civil... And then my introduction of Thomas Elliot fell rather flat. But don't worry, you'll be seeing lots more of him later. I'm glad I was able to make you feel for poor Blink in the last chapter. After all, that's really what I write for, to make an impact and to reach an audience. I tend to find angst and violence to be the easiest ways of doing that, most of the time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this chapter much more than I did writing it. I'm determined more than anything to not let this story die, hence the forcing of plot and story. But it should get really good soon. I hope. No more rambling, it's three a.m. I really gotta stop this...

_Blink didn't come home at all dat night. It was probly 'bout four in da mornin' before we heard anythin'. An' what we did hear didn't do nothin' ta quiet my nerves. Much as Blink'n me was always at odds, we was actually pretty close. Blink was like a brudder ta me, pretty much da closest t'ing ta family I's ever had._

_So when Bruce came home real late dat night and said dat Blink was conked out in da hospital, while I'm sure Spot was concerned, he weren't nowhere near as freaked out as I was. For one t'ing, Spot's from Brooklyn, so he didn't know Blink dat well ta begin wit'. Of course, like I said, he was still worried, an' who could blame him? 'Specially when Cowboy told us what'd happened._

_I dunno how he knew wit'out us tellin' him, but he'd been out on patrol, lookin' fer Blink, when he'd heard da gunshot. Of course da fact dat it came from Gordon's place was cause for concern, but what was even more disturbin' ta him was when he saw da Red Hood chasin' da Joker away from da scene'a da crime. He'd shadowed'em from a distance, tryin' not ta be seen, an' especially not ta give da Joker any reason ta suspect dat da Red Hood had anythin' ta do wit' him. Da last t'ing he needed, he said, was for da Joker ta be gunnin' for us instead'a him._

_Unfortunately dis kinda stopped him from bein' able ta save Blink when da flash bomb went off. He'd seen Blink slip an' fall, an' was on his way ta help him when dis bright light comes flyin' outta da alley, an' a few seconds later da Joker's tearin' outta dere like nobody's business, laughin' da whole way._

_An' den dere was da screamin'…_

* * *

"What happened, Gordon? How did he get out?" Batman's growl was dangerously low, almost accusatory. He'd never spoken to the Commissioner like that before, not ever. And Jim wasn't happy about it one bit.

"If I knew, do you think I'd withhold that kind of information from you?" he snapped. "I didn't even know he was out until he showed up on my doorstep!"

"Somebody let him out and I need to know who!"

Gordon was a little confused. "What difference does that make?" he asked. "I should think it'd be more important right now to figure out where the hell he is, and bring him back. We can worry about the who, how, and why later."

"A kid almost died because he was let out!"

"A kid that insisted on dressing up and playing vigilante. I can't be held responsible for that!"

"Are you implying that this kid may never see again because of me? That this is somehow _my_ fault?"

There was an uncomfortable pause as Gordon finally backed down and shifted his feet. But he didn't break the Dark Knight's gaze. "No. No, I'm not saying that. But I won't deny the possibility either." He gestured back toward the hospital across the street from where they were standing, his voice rising again. "My _daughter_ is lying in a hospital bed right now, and she may never _walk_ again because of this monster. So don't you _dare_ think for one minute that I don't know how serious this is!"

Batman nodded solemnly, the closest he'd ever get to apologizing to Gordon. He'd been so caught up in worrying about Jason, he'd almost forgotten about Barbara. Almost. "Nobody saw the Red Hood in that alley. Make sure it stays that way."

With an incredulous sigh, Gordon shook his head. "What is it about this kid that makes you want to protect him?"

A cold glare was his only response.

* * *

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Would ya stop dat already?" Race halted his pacing just long enough to give Spot a pointed glare before continuing on to the opposite wall. The incessant tapping did pause momentarily, but the minute Race's back was turned, Spot was at it again. _Tap, tap, tap, tap,_ went the gold-tipped cane on the hard carpet of the hospital's waiting room. Race growled and spun on his heel. "Seriously, Spot, dat's gettin' on my already-tender nerves. Ya been doin' dat fer hours now."

Without even glancing up to acknowledge that he was being spoken to, Spot gave an absent nod and continued tapping his cane rhythmically on the floor. In a last, desperate attempt to save his sanity, Race swiftly snatched the cane from his grasp and gave the floor in front of Spot a firm, resounding _smack_ with the end of it. This brought the Brooklyn boy back to reality with a jolt. "Hey," he said when he'd finally realized his cane was now in hands other than his own.

"Look," Race sighed, running a hand down his face. "I know you's worried 'bout Blink. I am too. But dis tappin' is makin' me all kinds'a jumpy. Ya gotta cut it out."

"Oh sure, like yer pacin' is doin' _me_ any good," Spot shot back, grabbing his cane back and tucking it firmly in the beltloop of his pants.

Race sighed again and combed his fingers through his hair. "Told ya we shoulda told Cowboy 'bout dis," he muttered.

"Would dat'a stopped him?" Spot asked, giving a shrug and leaning back, trying – and failing – to look casual.

"Nah, I guess not." The nervous back-and-forth march continued.

"Stop _pacin'_. It's givin' me a headache," Spot whined.

"I can't! Not 'til I know he's gonna be okay."

"He ain't Race." The little Italian shook his head and continued his pacing. "You know he ain't. C'mon, he ain't dead, but dat flash bang screwed up his good eye. He ain't ever gonna see again."

"Gee, thanks for da encouragin' words," Race spat, the sarcasm in his voice nothing like what it normally was.

This fact was not lost on Spot. "I's bein' sarcastic, ya dimwit. I'd'a thought, of all people, you'd recognize sarcasm when ya heard it."

"Yeah, well… yours needs work."

Spot sighed and thumped his cane on the floor in frustration. "Race… Tim… Bruce said dis guy, Elliot… Well, he's s'posed ta be da best surgeon around. An' he said hisself he could get Blink… Jason both his eyes back."

"Yeah, so?"

"So quit bein' so paranoid an' sit down!" When Racetrack refused to comply, Spot grabbed him roughly by the back of his vest and threw him into the chair next to him.

"Thanks, _Dick_," Race sneered, shifting angrily around in his seat.

At that moment, Bruce walked into the waiting room, looking just as haggard as the two boys felt. With a tired sigh, he ran a hand through his tousled brown hair. "Surgery went well," he said quietly, his voice betraying the level of exhaustion his body must surely be experiencing. "He's in recovery. And he's awake. He's been asking for you two."

Race wanted to let out a whoop and go dancing down the halls right then, but Spot's firm hand on the back of his collar prevented him from doing so. As the two boys followed Bruce down the hall to Blink's room, they were oddly silent. There was a heavy feeling in the air around them. Something told them that Bruce was going to have a very long, very serious talk with the three of them very soon.

Nothing could have prepared Spot and Race for what they saw when they finally reached the room. Kid Blink was sitting up in bed, a thick bandage wrapped around his head and covering both eyes. His blonde hair was matted and stuck out in odd angles, and his skin was pale as death. A large, purple bruise was forming along his left temple. Worst of all, he seemed to jump at every sound.

As the two boys seemed momentarily speechless, Bruce spoke first. "Hey, Jason. I brought Tim and Dick in. How you feeling?"

Blink shrugged, obviously trying to appear much less nervous than he was. "A little banged up. And my eyes hurt."

"That's to be expected," said a man standing in the corner. He was tall, with curly red hair and a white coat, and was consulting a clipboard of paperwork – Dr. Thomas Elliot. "Everything looks pretty clear to me," Dr. Elliot went on. "We'll keep you here a couple more days, just to make sure there are no complications, and then you may return home. In a couple weeks the bandages come off, and you, my boy, will be able to see with both your eyes." He gave a warm smile as he tucked the clipboard under his arm and turned to Bruce. "It was good to see you again, Bruce. But I'm afraid I have pressing duties elsewhere. I'll let the four of you have some time alone." Bruce nodded as Elliot stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. The three boys waited in silence for what they knew was coming.

When Bruce finally spoke, he didn't raise his voice. But it was still laced with a very stern tone. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear when I said I didn't want any of you involved in this."

Without hesitation, Blink spoke up from the bed in a clear, strong voice. "You brought us out here for a reason, Bruce. Ya need help. Ya need a partner."

"Jason…"

"I don't exactly agree wit' his methods," Spot interjected, "but I'm afraid I's gotta agree wit' da bonehead. Ya can't keep dis up by yourself. Not for much longer, anyways."

Bruce glared at Spot. "_You_ knew he was sneaking out, and you said nothing."

Spot just shrugged. "I wanted ta see how it'd play out. Clearly da kid needs some proper trainin'. I mean, afta all, he ain't no Brooklyn boy."

"So you had the same idea in mind. He just beat you to it?"

"Nah," Spot said, shaking his head and tapping his cane against his shoulder. "I ain't dat stupid ta try sneakin' around by meself. Like he said, ya needs a _partner_, not some idiot kid runnin' around like a target."

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a moment before Bruce answered. "I _had_ a partner," he stated softly. "And the Joker just took her out of the game."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Race said suddenly, sitting forward in his chair. "Ya mean Jim Gordon's girl? You's trainin' Barbara Gordon ta be yer partner?" Bruce just nodded. "An' dat clown didn't know? Jeez, talk 'bout coincidence."

Blink leaned back in bed and gave a triumphant smirk. "Admit it, Cowboy. Ya need us. Now more'n ever."

Several moments passed in silence as Bruce looked from one face to the next. Spot tapped his cane impatiently against the base of his neck, while Race slumped back into his chair to sulk. Finally, he sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. "There's just no keeping you boys out of this after all, is there?" It was Spot's turn to smirk triumphantly. "There are conditions, though," Bruce went on, glancing up sharply. "Jason, you aren't going anywhere until you heal up and get some proper training in. Tim, the same goes for you."

"Who said I wanted in on dis freak show, anyways?" Race snapped.

Bruce sighed and turned reluctantly to Spot. "All right, Dick, I guess that leaves you. But I want you to promise me that you'll do exactly as I say, and never put yourself in any kind of unnecessary danger. Is that understood?"

With a grin that showed more excitement than was due such a grave undertaking, Spot spit into his hand and they shook on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Race was being whiny again. I haven't a clue why. Maybe he's upset cuz I haven't worked on Heart of Brooklyn in a while...


	8. First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARG! Race can be SO uncooperative sometimes... Hey, betcha all thought I was dead or something (except methegirl, who knows where I've been *wink*). I'm not. I've been wrestling with Race, tryin to get him to cooperate. I think he was jealous, cuz even though he's kinda unofficially the main character in this story, Spot's the main focus of this chapter. Though he really has no right to be jealous in the first place, cuz he's got Close, but No Dice and Heart of Brooklyn all to himself... :P Anyways... A'righty guys, hope you enjoy this! It's nice and long, to make up for the wait...

_Sometimes I hate Spot Conlon._

_I mean, most'a da time I can put up wit' him, even when he's bein' smug. Which is pretty much always. But when he starts gettin' all arrogant an' high-an'-mighty, an' he's _serious_ 'bout it, I wanna kill him. It's all I can do ta keep from punchin' his lights out._

_He got like dat afta Cowboy took him on as a partner, goin' 'round tellin' us we was actin' immature. Like he had any rights ta talk. Really, da only thing ta change was dat he was spendin' more time wit' Bruce an' less time wit' us. Not dat I was complainin', of course, besides da fact dat he felt it gave him superiority._

_It weren't arrogance, exactly. I guess I just didn't like da fact dat Spot was gettin' so much attention. Despite how much I wanted nuttin' ta do wit' dis whole crime-fightin' thing, I guess I really was jealous. Oh, dey tried ta get me into it, but I just couldn't bring myself ta be involved in somethin' dat reminded me at every turn just how much he'd been lyin' ta us._

_I remember when Al finished Spot's uniform. It was da ugliest shade'a red ya ever did see, kinda like a brick red, wit' a black cape an' boots an' gloves ta go wit' it. So's he'd blend in wit' da city, he said. I saw him struttin' in front'a da mirror wit' it on, an' I just couldn't help myself. I told him it was da stupidest thing I ever saw, an' dat he looked like a little robin-bird, standin' dere in his ridiculous costume._

_Al thought it was kinda catchy, so dey used it._

_Tommy, da doctor dat did Blink's surgery, was as good as his word. Afta a couple days in da hospital Blink was allowed ta come back home. Da good doc made a few housecalls durin' da next few weeks ta check up on him, an' ta catch up some wit' Bruce. Apparently dey grew up togedder or somethin' like dat. Old childhood friends. Both orphans. Ain't dat a coincidence. Anyhow, da bandages came off afta a few weeks'a stumblin' around, and sure enough, Kid Blink was finally able ta see outta both eyes fer da first time in who knows how long._

_It was 'bout da same time Bruce finally let Spot go on patrol wit' him fer da first time. Things kinda went a little screwy den…_

* * *

  
"John Grey, age forty-two. Mary Grey, age thirty-seven." Jim Gordon shook his head as he read off the names. This was the part of the job he hated. "Ryan Grey, age twelve." He turned to the dark figure kneeling next to him, examining the bodies. "A family of professional circus freaks with no records and no criminal ties whatsoever. So what's the deal here?"

When the Batman gave his reply, his voice was low and tense. "One of Maroni's men," he growled.

"Maroni's dead. One of the people Dent killed, remember?"

"Of course he remembers." Gordon turned toward the new voice and came face-to-face with a set of ice-blue eyes hidden behind a black domino mask. "Maroni wasn't behind it."

"Who is this?" Gordon asked incredulously. The figure standing before him couldn't have been older than seventeen, and was clad in a uniform of dark red and black.

"My new partner," Batman replied. "Robin. And he's right."

Robin gave a slight smirk and nod to the Commissioner before picking back up where he'd left off. "After Falcone's arrest, Maroni took over the crime ring, right? So it stands to reason that, after Maroni's untimely death, one of _his_ men would try to fill the shoes. Well, it just so happens that Tony Zucco has been trying to regroup the family. My guess is he was using Haley's Circus for some kind of underhanded trafficking."

Batman gave an approving nod. "We know Haley's clean," he continued. "Which means this was a threat. Possibly Haley refused to allow Zucco to do his dirty work here."

"Well, that gives us a perpetrator," Gordon said with a sigh. "But you know how much trouble I have bringing in the mob."

The smirk on Robin's face grew a little. "That's what you've got us for."

* * *

  
"I can_not_ believe you left the top down!"

Race just smiled as he watched Blink shake water out of his blonde hair, their voices echoing off the rock of the cave. "Hey, c'mon," he said at last. "Cowboy's got four others just like it. An' we got da top back up before dere was too much damage done." He paused to wring water out of his hat before slapping the soggy mess of fabric back on his head. "'Sides, how was I s'posed ta know it was gonna rain? Sky was clear twenty minutes ago."

Blink just sighed and shook his head. "Know what else I can't believe? That Bruce actually let you drive one of his cars in the first place." With a smirk, he wandered over to the equipment deck, running his hands over Robin's spare uniform.

The Italian gave an impatient sigh and pulled out a cigar. "Why I gots da feelin' dat ain't da end of your list'a t'ings ya can't believe?"

"Ya know Bruce don't like ya smokin' those things," Blink said, giving him a pointed glance.

"Yeah, whadda _you_ care," Race muttered, puffing at his cigar for a moment in silence. "Ya ain't answered my question."

"No. Ya know what, it's not. I just— I don't understand how ya could possibly not want anything to do with any of this. What's up with ya lately?"

After a thoughtful drag, Race took the cigar out of his mouth waved it around vaguely. He'd always had a habit of talking with his hands, especially when he was holding a cigar. "Look, Blink—"

"Jason."

"Whatever. I know you's grateful, getting' your sight back an' all. An' I don't doubt dere was some kinda real thrill from your little escapade. But honestly, ya coulda been killed out dere. I just don't feel inclined ta put my neck on da line on a regular basis, dat's all. I mean, I ain't stupid."

"That's up for debate," Blink muttered, offended.

"Whaddaya talkin' about?"

"C'mon," Blink sneered. "Bruce may not be real sharp sometimes, but I notice things, and so does Dick. You's just lucky they didn't hit ya in the face this time, cuz I think that'd be a little harder to hide."

"Dunno what your talkin' 'bout," Race said defiantly.

"Ya know _exactly_ what I'm talkin' about, and what's more, ya _know_ it needs to stop." The two boys stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment as Race continued to smoke his cigar, refusing to look Blink in the eye. "How much did ya lose this time, Tim?" When he received no response, he groaned. "Race_track_."

Race smirked, though it was a slightly hollow gesture. "I'll make it back up tomorrow or somethin'. No big deal."

"Yeah, it kinda _is_ a big deal. This ain't New York, Tim. Ya don't run this town. It runs you, okay? This has gotta stop before things get outta hand."

"Spot put ya up ta dis, didn't he?"

"It don't matter whether he did or not," Blink said loudly, his voice reaching a volume dangerously close to furious. "Ya gotta stop before ya get into real trouble, ya hear?" Again, Race didn't answer right away. Blink grabbed him by the collar and drew him close, glaring at him with both eyes wide and piercing. "I swear, I'll soak ya myself if I hear anymore 'bout this, ya hear me?"

"Whatever ya say," Race replied, patting Blink patronizingly on the cheek and giving his lopsided grin.

Both boys knew they hadn't heard the last of it.

* * *

  
Zucco caved.

There was really never any question about whether or not he would. The Caped Crusader had ways of making people talk. It was common knowledge. Nobody could withstand his methods. Especially if he was going off of a hunch.

But there were complications that night that Bruce hadn't anticipated. And he should have. He knew he should have. The boy had seemed so calm during the crime scene investigation. Even flippant, to a point. Seeing Zucco himself must have triggered it.

Bruce had made a grave mistake in forgetting for a split-second that Spot Conlon's parents were killed by a member of the New York mob. Some thug who'd been trying to impress the up-tops during a major drug deal. The Conlon's had merely been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like his parents had been.

The moment they'd cornered Zucco in an alley, not far from the fairgrounds, Bruce realized the mistake he'd made. Spot's ice-blue eyes glazed over with focus and determination as he watched the mobster pull out his gun and glance nervously up and down the alley. In one swift movement, he'd shoved Zucco up against the brick alley wall, grabbing the gun and pointing it at the thug's chest with a snarl. The terrified man fell to his knees and started gushing out confessions as Batman pulled the gun from Spot's hands. Once his hands were free, however, the boy had started pounding them into the man's face in a hot rage.

He sat now on a nearby rooftop, watching through the pouring rain as the cops came by to pick up their package. Bruce sat next to him, not saying a word. After a long silence, he lifted his shaking hands and stared at them with empty eyes. The fire had long gone out of him, leaving him shaken and hollow. "I— I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Batman took his time answering, letting the grave mood settle between them. Finally, he stood, staring down at the boy sitting at his feet. "Something you're going to have to deal with," he said at last, though not unkindly.

"I don't know how you do it. Every night, fighting the injustice that took your life away, without…" He struggled for the right words, finally letting his hands fall to his sides in defeat.

"Letting it consume you?" Bruce offered. Spot nodded, still not looking him in the eye. "It comes with time and training. Just remember, revenge won't do you any good. We fight for justice, not vengeance."

Spot gave another nod before rising to his feet, finally bringing his gaze to meet Bruce's through the slanting rainfall. "I'm ready to go home now," he said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me first say that writing Spot out of the Dick Grayson character was very tricky this chapter, cuz I wanted to throw the canon origin in there somewhere, but without him being personally involved, it got sticky. Fortunately, I was able to pull it off as well as fix the last hole in my plot at the same time, so I am pleased. Also, the bit with leaving the top down on the car... Yeah, totally did that the other day. Poor Skitts-the-car... In my defense, though, I had no clue it was gonna rain, otherwise I totally woulda closed the sunroof... Instead I had to run outside in the middle of my shift to close it, and it was raining so hard that by the time I got back in I literally looked like I had jumped in a pool... So yeah, my inspiration for starting that scene.


	9. Inner Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEEARGH! *sigh* Stupid twenty-percent-of-my-grade cause/effect research paper... It's such a horrible distraction, this school thing. Thankfully I'll be done for the summer in a couple of weeks. You know how hard it is to find newspaper articles from 1899? (Yeah, that's right, I'm totally doing my research paper on the strike...) Anyhow, I'm pleased to see the great response to the last chapter. You caught on to his gambling problem even without me coming right out and saying it, which makes me smile. Spot seems to be making a big impression on you guys, which also makes me happy. Um... yeah. This chapter is kinda short, and a lot less happened than I originally wanted, but that's okay. Because guess what? I wrote out an outline last night! That's right! I know exactly where this story is going, and how we're going to get there! This is not a first, btw. Despair's Edge had an outline less than halfway through. I can't tell you a whole lot, cuz that would give it away (and Blink already did plenty of that in What I Won't Do...) but I can tell you that we're looking at somewhere between 17 and 18 chapters, depending on whether or not I do an epilogue. Haven't decided yet. But enough talk, you wanna read the new chapter. So here it is!

_Okay, okay, so I gotta little problem. Ain't like nobody knew. Seriously, I dunno why dey's makin' such a big deal 'bout it. It ain't like I gots no control or nuttin'. Just gots bad luck sometimes, is all. Seemingly more so since I's been in Gotham. It's like Blink said. I don't run dis town… yet. Right now it runs me. But all dat's gonna change real soon. I can feel it._

_Blink mighta said somethin' 'bout it ta Spot da next day, but I wouldn't know, cuz Spot was real quiet fer a while. Cowboy told us later what had happened dat first night. Me, I steered well clear. Ain't no way I's gonna get on da wrong side'a dat problem. I may not be smart 'nuff ta keep outta da wrong side'a Blink's anger management problems, but at least I knows better'n ta get mixed up wit' Spot Conlon's issues._

_It was probly 'round dis time I really started feelin' any kinda homesickness for New York. Spot's arrogance'd always made our friendship rocky at best, but now it was like it was rippin' dis huge hole 'tween us, an' like I said, I didn't wanna get mixed up wit' whatever he was dealin' wit'. Blink'd started trainin' wit' Bruce, so I's spendin' more'n more time alone at da mansion. At da same time, though, he was tryin' ta keep an eye on everythin' I did, which weren't really workin' out fer him an' only managed ta create tension._

_Den, before we knew it, September rolled 'round an' we was startin' school. I dunno what it was 'bout dat fancy private school Cowboy stuck us in, but I couldn't stand it. At all. An' I didn't make a whole lotta friends, neither. Actually, I didn't make any friends. Dey was a bunch'a snobby, stuck-up richies, an' I think dey all thought I was s'posed ta be one of 'em. But, a'course, growin' up on da streets like I did, I didn't know nuttin' about none'a dat. I got da feelin' dey didn't like me too much…_   


* * *

"I swear, everyone at dat school hates me."

Spot rolled his eyes as Race dropped his backpack on the bed and flopped over dramatically. "They don't hate ya, Tim," he muttered, turning back to the homework on his desk. "Ya don't exactly have a winning personality, and ya don't make the best first impression. 'Specially when you're in a mood."

"Well excuse me, _Dick_," Race sneered, sitting up from Spot's bed with an annoyed scowl on his face. There was only one reason he ever used Spot's legal name, and that was to insult him. "Ya know, we can't _all_ be da popular type."

"Thought you were walkin' home with Jason." Clearly Race was in one of his moods today, and Spot found it best to ignore his ranting outbursts at times like this.

At his casual comment, though, Race sat up and looked slightly worried. "What, he not home yet?"

"He's been home. And goin' into hysterics 'bout you not bein' home."

Race gave an all-too-indifferent shrug. "So I took a shortcut. Shoot me. He ain't my babysitter."

"You seem to have given him reason enough to think he is."

"What's dat s'posed ta mean?"

Spot shrugged in reply. "I'm just sayin' he's been awful uptight 'bout you lately. I mean, ya _have_ been disappearin' a lot."

"Ain't my fault ya bums leave me ta myself all'a time," Race muttered, lying back down. When he heard footsteps on the staircase, he rolled over and groaned.

Within seconds, Blink stormed through the doorway, looking thoroughly flustered. "Hey, Dick," he said wearily. "Ya seen Tim come in yet?" Without glancing up from his homework, Spot jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bed. Blink turned and nearly pounced when he saw Race. "What the _hell_ ya think you're doin'?" Race folded his arms behind his head and refused to answer, glaring back at him defiantly. "Ya were supposed to be walkin' home with _me_! Where'd ya disappear to?"

"I took a shortcut through Murder Alley. No big deal."

"No big deal? Tim, _no one_ takes a shortcut through Murder Alley!" Blink paused for a moment to catch his breath, his fingers clenching into fists. "I swear, if you—"

Race finally sat up, a genuinely conciliatory look on his face. "Hey, ease up, Blink. C'mon. Really, it's not dat—"

His words were cut off when Blink yanked him to his feet by the front of his vest, pulling him close. "So what was it this time, Race?" he growled dangerously. "Huh? Poker? Craps? Lose all your money flippin' a coin?"

With an irritated sigh, Spot stood and placed a hand on Blink's shoulder, trying to calm him. "C'mon, Jason. Really. What's the deal?"

Temper rising, Blink shoved Race forcefully back toward the bed and turned on Spot, green eyes blazing. "What's the deal? Ya wanna know what the deal is?" He pulled Racetrack back toward him, grabbing the Italian's face and turning it so Spot could see the right side.

A large bruise was forming on his jaw, and another one over his eye. Small, short cuts were scattered across his cheek and his nose looked slightly out of place. "_This_ is the deal!" Blink nearly screamed, shoving Racetrack away yet again. Race gave out a strangled groan as he righted himself against the bedpost, and it was now clear that he likely had a number of bruised ribs, as well as a slight limp in his left leg. "He goes an' gambles all his money away, an' then gets soaked fer not bein' able ta pay up," Blink said through clenched teeth, his accent coming through in his fury. "One'a dese days he's gonna end up dead in some alley, an' he ain't gonna have no one ta blame but himself."

"And one of these days," Spot calmly countered, stepping in front of Blink and getting in his face, "that temper of yours is gonna get you into some serious trouble."

Blink backed down, albeit reluctantly, and replied in a much softer tone. "He's gotta compulsive gambling problem, Spot. An' he just don't understand, this ain't New York. For all we know, they could be hustlin' him. Bad. An' just for the sake'a beatin' up some rich kid who don't know the difference, or when to quit." His eyes were pleading now to match his voice. "We gotta put a stop to this. We gotta tell Bruce."

"No!" Race exclaimed suddenly. "Nah, c'mon, I'll deal wit' it. I promise, a'right?" His eyes looked panicked and desperate. "Look, he needs you two, but he don't need me. He'd throw me out if he thought I's just causin' trouble. An' yer right, dis ain't New York. I wouldn't last five seconds out dere on my own. C'mon, just let me handle it, a'right?"

Blink shook his head and glanced away, practically begging Spot not to listen. But Spot wasn't paying attention. "All right," he sighed. "We let things play out with Jason, we'll let things play out with you. But," he warned, raising a menacing finger to emphasize his point, "you got one week to get this worked out. I agree with Jason, this is serious. Don't play around with this. You take longer'n a week, or something drastic happens, we're going straight to Bruce with this. Ya hear?"

Race nodded silently and slumped against the bed, rubbing his shoulder where Blink had shoved him. Gotham City was beginning to lose its charm for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm, things are starting to heat up, if you couldn't tell. I don't know how many of you are aware of my plans to write a sequel, but it's going to be very, very dark, and I think this chapter kinda foreshadows that a little bit. So all-in-all, not my least favorite. Oh, but wait until you see what I have planned for Spotty-boy next chapter... :)


	10. Oracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the opening monologue to this chapter is extremely long, and was actually written about two days ago. Then I got distracted by this shiny new sidestory that just kinda developed from it. :) So yeah, Legacy of Robin just turned into a trilogy, ladies and gentlemen. The rest of this chapter was actually written over the past couple of hours. Not an uncommon occurrence, actually. It really only takes me a couple hours to write a whole chapter - once I get going, that is. So in reality I could write an entire story like this in just a couple days, had I the attention span and the time to just _sit down and WRITE_... Anyhow. Um, the scene with Blink, I have absolutely no idea where it came from. It just happened, and I figured I could use it later on to develop more plot. There's a rather failed attempt at romance in here, if you can find it. You may have to squint some, though. And _please_ don't kill me for the ending... By the way, the rating on this fic just went up for that...

_A week goes by real quick when you's havin' fun._

_Actually, though, ta tell ya da truth, I was pretty depressed. Not dat I let it show or nuttin'. Never do. Dat just ain't da kinda person I am. I mean, I am a gambler, after all. I happen to pride myself on my poker face. Da gang scene was kinda my way'a copin' wit' everythin'. I's guessin' da whole thing wit' Jack'd hit me harder'n even I thought._

_Funny t'ing is, dey all t'ought it were somethin' as simple as losin' a few too many hands'a poker. If dat were da case, it woulda been a heckuva lot easier ta get it worked out in just a week. But what I'd found myself mixed up in was a bit more complicated'n dat._

_When it came ta gamblin', I practically ran New York. Dat ain't ta say I always came outon top. But I could handle myself pretty well if I didn't. Since I came ta Gotham, though, my luck seems ta be goin' sour. In a real odd way, too. See, at da moment I's pretty close ta runnin' da underworld. An' I ain't just talkin' 'bout craps an' poker, neither. Nah, I's talkin' automobile races, knife fights, dog fights, boxin' matches. An' of course da crowd favorite, an event dey call da Death Ring, where dey go down ta da docks an' lock two guys in an empty shippin' crate wit' nuttin' but a bat 'tween 'em for an hour. When dey wants ta make it more innerestin', dey stick a gun in dere instead an' only give 'em twenty minutes._

_I'd place bets on da various events Rhino had runnin' on occasion, but da real gamble was takin' da bets. Dat's what Rhino had me doin' afta a while. He'd give me a cut'a da losses, an' if I rigged da odds for him, I got a bigger cut. Toughest jobs was when da rival gang from the Lower East End came ta participate. Demon pretty much hated Rhino, but he knew better'n ta try an' start somethin' big like a real gang war. So any time he suspected us of fixin' da bets, which was often, he'd have his thugs soak me. It got worse as time went on, cuz Rhino was havin' me fixin' bigger'n bigger stuff._

_I managed ta stay outta trouble wit' Demon for a while afta Spot made his threat. I really was scared dat Cowboy might kick me out, but I was even more scared'a him findin' out what exactly I'd been into. An' knowin' him, he'd bust 'em for it. An' of course I'd be da snitch dat'd hafta pay for it. If dere was one t'ing dose two was right about, it was da fact dat my life was on da line here. I didn't stay away completely, but I made dead certain I didn't run into Demon for at least a few months._

_Den Rhino came to me an' told me he wanted me ta get one'a da next Death Ring fighters ta take a dive. One'a Demon's men. Da amount'a money sittin' on dis fight alone was enough ta drive any guy nuts. Da fact dat I'd been itchin' fer anudder job didn't help any. An' den dere was somethin' ta do wit' Demon's sister, Angel…_   


* * *

"Hey, One-eye!"

Blink set his jaw and shifted his backpack higher up on his shoulder, resisting the urge to turn around. He was beginning to understand Racetrack's sentiments about these private school boys. The raucous laughter continued behind him as his footsteps slowed, one hand reaching up to touch the eyepatch he was now wearing over his left eye. A few weeks ago, during one of his follow-up visits to the hospital, Dr. Elliot had noticed that his right eye was having a little trouble focusing. And so, here he was once again wearing a patch to help correct it.

The boys at school were getting a real kick out of it.

"Hey! Cyclops!" a particularly loud kid by the name of Darren was shouting. Blink finally turned around and glared – though it was, in fact, half hidden. "That's right, freak, I'm talkin' to you."

"What's your problem, Darren?" Blink growled. "Posse losing interest, so ya gotta pick on some handicapped kid to impress them?"

The three boys standing behind Darren snickered. Darren just smirked. "What is it your little runt friend calls you? Blinky?"

"Leave Tim out of this."

Darren shrugged. "I had no intention of pulling him into this, but if you'd like we can. Just where _is_ your little midget, anyway? Skipping school to go play with some dirty street rats?"

"Shut up and go do your little love-making thing with your lapdogs behind the gym or something." The fact that Blink hadn't been able to find Race all day was really bothering him, and Darren was only making things worse.

To his further frustration, Darren's mean grin just grew at the insult. "No thanks. Wouldn't want to steal your spot."

"My what?"

"You know." Darren seemed barely able to contain his cruel laughter. "Your special spot where you take that Dick Grayson between classes. Tell me, is it blondes he finds attractive, or is it the fact that you're half-blind?"

Blink's eyes narrowed dangerously. For about half a second, the thought flew through his head that this was probably a really bad idea. But this boy had just insulted not only him, but _both_ of his friends. And all he could see at the moment was the red, raging fury.  


* * *

For several seconds, Spot just stared. Never, in all his life, had he seen _anything_ like this. The redhead sitting in front of him smiled at his shocked expression. "What's the matter, Robin?" she quipped. "Bats never show you the cave computer?"

He shook his head, averting his gaze momentarily to address her properly. "No, he has," he replied, trying to sound indignant. "I just… never seen one this _big_ before."

One corner of her mouth quirked up curiously. "Your dialect… You're not from here, are you?"

"So what if I ain't?" he shrugged, allowing his accent to slip a little just to prod her. She actually giggled slightly in response.

"What do you have for us, Oracle?" Batman asked, before the conversation could go any further.

"Right." She turned in her chair and started typing away, her fingers flying over the keys with practiced agility. "Huntress called something in from the Narrows a few minutes ago. She's been keeping tabs on this gang near Park Row, and there seems to be some activity picking up tonight, but she didn't want to do anything since it's not technically her territory. She said they were down at the docks for some gathering or group event, and it turned into a kind of riot."

"We don't handle gangs," Bruce said calmly. "Get someone else."

"No, no!" Spot said suddenly. "I'm okay. I can handle it."

Bruce turned to him, searching his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he replied with a nod, a note of confidence in his voice. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Alrighty then," Oracle grinned, turning back to the screen. "Looks like they were starting to congregate back near Park Row. Now, Huntress isn't sure, but she thinks she might have recognized some kids from Gotham Heights Academy. At least one of them was wearing a uniform."

Bruce nodded and led Spot back out of the Clocktower. As they descended the seemingly endless staircase, Spot glanced back over his shoulder. "So that's what she's doing now?" he asked softly.

"The Joker completely paralyzed her legs. She still wanted to help me."

"Too tough to quit, huh?" Spot chuckled slightly, if only to mask the uneasy feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach at the mention of Gotham Heights. He _knew_ most of those kids. He'd made friends with most of them – with the exception of Darren Somers and the group that Blink had run into that morning. At that thought, he sighed and shook his head. He'd _told_ Blink that temper of his would get him into trouble.

"She's too young for you, Robin," Bruce muttered. "Keep your head in the job." Spot almost protested, but Bruce's comment had sent his mind swirling in an entirely new direction.

For one thing, he'd never met a girl who could hold her own with him the way Barbara Gordon did.  


* * *

As they neared Park Row – better known as Crime Alley – they could hear screams and shots ringing through the night air. What had started as a riot down at the docks was quickly turning into a rout as the home gang chased the rival group off their turf. Batman and Robin watched for a moment, silently assessing the situation. The home gang didn't seem to be too interested in causing any actual damage. Most likely they hadn't been the cause of the riot in the first place. And the rival gang was too intent on running to really be any kind of threat.

Batman signaled, and the two of them leapt down from their perch on a nearby rooftop and into the fray, splitting up to cover more territory. The main objective here was to make sure nobody got hurt, which seemed simple enough. Robin kept his eyes open for any of the Gotham Heights boys, but didn't see any.

He heard scuffling in a nearby alley and crept closer to investigate. It was too dark to see anything, but he could make out the sounds of muffled grunts and angry snarls. So as to get an advantage, he climbed a fire escape to the roof and hurried along the wall to where the noise was coming from.

A small shaft of moonlight lit up a tiny portion of the deadend alley where a large man was bending over something shrouded in the shadows, beating at it with wooden bat. A skinny twig of a kid was cowering nearby with his hands over his eyes, whimpering. Suddenly the man turned to the kid and waved his bat at him menacingly. "Shut up, Twitch. Or I swear you'll be next!"

"Stop it, Demon!" the kid begged. "You're killing him!" As if to punctuate the statement, a low, pitiful moan issued from the shadows, earning what sounded like a few well-placed swats from the bat.

Spot's breath caught in his throat, and suddenly he didn't trust himself to handle the situation. He glanced around almost frantically for Bruce, but couldn't find him anywhere. The noise from the riot was beginning to die down as the rival gang fled for their own territory. He clenched his eyes shut, all his previous confidence quickly evaporating as he ran his options through his head.

His mind was made up for him, though, as Demon gave one final swing, eliciting a choked groan from his victim, and threw the bat down on the ground. "That should teach Rhino," he growled down at the shadowy form at his feet. "You tell him, the next time he sends some punk kid to fix his wager, I'll kill _him_, too. If ya last that long." With that, he stalked out of the alley, adjusting his jacket slightly as he went.

As soon as Demon was out of sight, Twitch curled into a corner of the alley and went into hysterics. "Oh man. This ain't _good_, man, this aint _good_! Help! Somebody help! Oh, god, I think he's _dead_!"

Spot let out a sigh and turned to leave, wondering if it might've been better to risk losing his head again. He decided it hadn't been worth the risk, since Bruce wasn't there to stop him if he had. Besides, what was one gang member? The guy probably had it coming anyway.

But he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard what Twitch was screaming. And immediately changed his mind. "Muff! Scooter! Rhino! Somebody come _quick_! Demon just killed Race! Oh, _god_. I think he's dead! Somebody! He… He just killed _Racetrack_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I'm the meanest person on the face of the planet. I just want to apologize for one thing: If any people named "Darren" are offended, it was not intentional. The name just popped into my head, and I went with it. *dodges flying fruit* Your comments are appreciated, and I _know_ I'm gonna get some good ones. I think this was one of my favorite chapters so far. :)


	11. Bigger Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter, believe it or not, doesn't actually fit into my outline. I mean it does, but everything that was supposed to happen in this chapter according to my outline kinda kept getting pushed farther and farther back as more stuff happened (don't worry, I'm very flexible with stuff like this). But yeah, that's why the title sucks. So even though it's kinda one of the filler chapters, it's very long, and there's a lot going on. Blame Blink and Spot's conversation on me reading too many modern fics. Anyhow, it's late (early?), I have work in the morning, please enjoy.

_Before all'a dis happened, Blink an' Spot really was my best friends. I mean, Blink an' I was already pretty close before da strike, an' I's always been on good terms wit' Spot, but da t'ree of us really sorta bonded when Jack disappeared. Tragedy an' loss gotta way'a bringin' people together. It's like one'a dem laws of nature, ya know?_

_I remember da winter before Cowboy came back, somethin' hit da lodgin' house. Hard. Davey told us it was da flu or somethin', but it didn't really make much difference to us. Every single kid in dat place felt like dey was gonna die at some point. For da t'ree of us, it was almost true. Spot made da trip from Brooklyn ta Manhattan almost everyday t'rough da snow ta check up on us. I'd been havin' a lotta trouble scrapin' together da money for my bunk, so I's actually out on da streets when it hit me. Blink worked extra hours ta get me in outta da cold, but he ended up payin' dearly for it. Most'a us was back ta sellin' wit'in a few days'a catchin' it. Blink was bedridden for near ta two whole weeks._

_By dat point, Spot was too sick ta be makin' da trip 'tween boroughs. Since we still hadn't chosen a new leader afta Jack left, an' since da Brooklyn boys was perfectly capable'a takin' care'a demselves for a little while, he'd moved in ta help me take care'a Blink. Soon's he was back on his own feet an' sellin' again, me an' him pooled our money ta keep Blink in bed._

_Even so, we almost lost him one night when his temperature spiked. But he bounces back real well from stuff like dat. So does Spot. Me, not as much. Even though I'd only been stuck in bed for a couple days myself, my breathin' never was quite da same afta dat winter…_   


* * *

"I think he's dead! Somebody! He… He just killed _Racetrack_! Demon just _killed_ Racetrack!"

Spot could have sworn he felt his heart stop. For several seconds, he stood frozen, listening to Twitch scream hysterically as he racked his brain, trying to remember where it was Race had said he took his shortcuts. _Murder Alley_. He groaned as it finally came to him. _Murder Alley is off of Park Row._

As he turned around and jumped down into the alley, he was vaguely aware of his right hand fumbling for the alert button on his utility belt while the other unhooked his collapsed batons – he'd been unwilling to part with his cane and simply had Alfred modify it. He resisted the urge to run straight for the still form hidden in the shadows, instead yanking the screaming twig to his feet and shoving him against the alley wall. "What happened here?" he demanded, pressing one of the batons to Twitch's chest to keep him in place.

Twitch stared at him in wide-eyed panic, stuttering out his response. "One-One'a Demon's guys t-took a dive in the D-Death Ring. Rhino had R-Race s-set it up. And D-Demon don't like n-nobody touchin' his sister. H-He-He caught 'em… caught 'em in an alley." He started shaking uncontrollably under Spot's icy gaze. "I th-th-think he was drunk. He just hauled off on him, a-and he wouldn't s-stop. Man, I _told_ him… I _told_ him goin' anywhere _near_ Angel was a b-bad idea, but he j-just wouldn't _listen_ to me, and now I-I-I think he's dead!"

Spot glared darkly at him for another brief moment before releasing him and motioning toward the alley entrance. "Get outta here!" he shouted. "Go! Get out!" Twitch eagerly complied, screaming the whole way for someone named Scooter and continuing his hysterical screams of "He's dead!"

Heart pounding in his ears, Spot finally allowed his eyes to search the dark shadows of the alley. No details could be determined, but he could vaguely make out a small form huddled in the corner where Demon had been but moments before. There was no movement. "I swear, Race," he muttered under his breath, his fists clenching as he slowly made his way over. "I swear, if you're not already dead, I'll kill you myself." He reached out into the darkness, feeling for any signs of life he could find. There was so much blood, torn flesh, broken bones… It almost didn't seem human. A faint pulse still beat in what he assumed had once been a neck, but the breathing was extremely shallow and had a hitch to it. He felt his throat clamping and tried to swallow past the lump forming there, cursing under his breath. "Could be anybody," he tried to tell himself, even though he really didn't believe it. "Might not be him, could be anybody."

Booted footsteps sounded near the alley entrance, and he turned when he heard Bruce's voice. "Robin!"

"Over here!" he called, working hard to keep the strain out of his voice.

Bruce hurried down the alley, concern edging his tone. "You hit the alert. What happened?"

"I found one of the Murder Alley gang members here, guy named Twitch. The other gang was from the Lower East End, Demon's men. I found Demon here beating one of the other members over a thrown match, something Twitch called a Death Ring. The guy who set it up…" His voice choked as he averted his gaze. "He's hurt real bad, Batman."

"He going to make it?"

Spot shook his head. "Not unless we take him with us."

"And Demon?"

"He got away. I didn't trust myself not to kill him, so I let him go."

Bruce gave no sign, of approval or otherwise. "Robin, we can't take in every gang member we find beat up in an alley. It's one less kid causing trouble on the streets. Just let him go."

Spot winced inwardly, but ignored him. The only thing he could hear was Twitch's hysterical screams running through his head as he struggled with the weight of the form at his feet. He couldn't lift it without knowing what was where – or, at least, what _should_ be where – so he grabbed a shattered leg and pulled as gently as he could manage, trying to get the body as much into the failing light as he could. The more he saw, the more his heart sank as his hopes that Bruce was right, that it really _was_ just another kid, were dashed.

"Robin—" Spot hissed at him to be quiet as he rolled the limp body over onto its back. One arm made a sickening thud as it landed on the ground with the force of the roll. The face was covered in bruises and blood, but he'd know it anywhere. Again, he swore under his breath as he fought the sudden urge swelling in his chest. He couldn't yet tell if it was the urge to scream or to vomit. Bruce just stared for several seconds. "How did you know?"

"I heard the other gang member screaming that Demon had just killed Racetrack. _He_ was Rhino's set-up. And something about Demon's sister, Angel."

"Smells like alcohol."

"One of 'em was drunk. Twitch didn't say which one." Spot laid a gloved hand gently on Race's chest, feeling it hitch with each shallow breath and shaking his head. "His lungs ain't right. Haven't been since last winter. We gotta get him outta here, or he ain't gonna make it."  


* * *

"I swear I'm gonna _kill him_!"

Alfred moved across the room to pick up the ice pack that had been flung into the wall, silently thankful that there were no breakable objects immediately within Blink's reach. "Master Drake has kept later hours than this," he intoned gently. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about." Blink responded by flinging a small pillow at the wardrobe in the corner. The injuries he'd sustained in his fight with Darren were putting him in a decidedly bad mood. "You, on the other hand," Alfred continued, "are in no condition to be throwing a fit over something so trivial."

"I'm not throwing a fit," Blink snapped, his head starting to pound. If he hadn't been so furious, it would surely have sounded like pouting. "And it's _not_ trivial."

"Then what, pray tell, _is_ it exactly, Master Jason?"

"It's… It's nothing." _Curse you, Race, for making me keep quiet._

Alfred simply gave a longsuffering grin and brought the pillow and the ice pack back to the bed. "Then might I suggest you forget about it for the time being and try to get some rest? Master Wayne and Master Grayson should be back at any moment, and it won't sit well with them to see you all worked up over… Well, _nothing_."

A soft, hesitant knock sounded at the open door, and Blink turned to see Spot standing there, still dressed in his uniform and looking slightly flustered. "Alfred?" Spot said quietly. "Bruce… um… needs you. In the cave. It's… kind of urgent."

With a sigh, the butler turned to walk out the door. "I do hope it was not the dogs again," he muttered to himself as he left. Blink was sure he heard more about stitches and dislocated shoulders as Alfred made his way down the hall.

Spot didn't follow, but instead stood there in the doorway as if he wanted to say something, all the time pointedly avoiding Blink's eye. "So… How bad is it?" Blink asked hesitantly, trying to sound casual. Spot didn't answer, and a decidedly unpleasant feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He lifted the eyepatch away from his left eye so he could see Spot better as he went on. "C'mon, Dick. This is Bruce we're talking about. I mean, how bad _could_ it be?"

When Spot's eyes finally met his, he immediately regretted asking in the first place, though he still wasn't quite sure why. Those blue eyes behind the black mask flashed with something Blink could have sworn was guilt. "You ever hear of the Murder Alley gang, Jason?"

Blink squirmed a little. "Yeah, down off Crime Alley, right? Bad news. Everybody knows that."

Spot nodded, his voice shaking a little as he went on. "You know what it is they do over there?"

"Gambling ring or something, last I heard. Why? What gives?"

Spot shook his head and once again averted his gaze. "For once, Jason, you were right. We shoulda put a stop to it _before_ it got outta hand."

"What… What are you saying, Dick?" Blink asked slowly. He had a sinking feeling he already knew.

"I… made a mistake, Kid. And he might die because of it."  


* * *

A somber mood fell over the two boys as they sat beside Racetrack's bed and watched his slightly shallow – but steady – breathing. Thankfully the injuries he'd sustained were not outside Alfred's expertise. While Demon had managed to crack several of his ribs, the deranged gang leader had somehow only hit him in the head once with the bat, so a trip to the hospital was not necessary. Still, it would take him a long time to recover, particularly his lungs.

Blink let out a sigh and shifted the ice pack that was sliding off of his swollen ankle sprain. He was sitting with his leg propped up on Spot's chair while Spot stood leaning against the bed post, hands shoved into his trouser pockets. "I'll bet this is how you guys felt while I was in surgery," Blink said softly, rubbing at his left eye in annoyance. The patch was starting to get on his nerves. Spot just nodded without taking his eyes off of Race. After a moment of silence, Blink gave a humorless chuckle. "Better watch it, Dick. You'll be next."

Spot finally turned to glare at him, his eyes burning and intense. "_He_ wouldn't listen. That was stupid. _You_ broke your promise. _That_ was stupid. So far, out of the three of us, I'm the _least_ likely to end up incapacitated."

Raising his eyebrows as he resettled the patch in its place, Blink made a mocking sound in the back of his throat. "Mmm, lotta syllables there. You sure you can count that high?"

"You sure you're spelling _syllables_ right?" Spot snapped back, averting his gaze once more.

"I wasn't spelling it," Blink scoffed. "I was saying it. There's a difference."

"I know you. You can't pronounce a word unless you can spell it in your head."

"Well, then I guess I did well enough, didn't I?"

Spot ignored him and pulled his hands out of his pockets, crossing them over his chest as he watched Race's unconscious form. He kept running the scene over and over in his head, trying to figure out if he could have possibly been there any sooner, if he could have _done_ something. He was rudely interrupted when Blink continued. "Besides, what _I_ did wasn't stupid. It was just poor judgment. Ya gotta be some kinda idiot to get yourself involved with a gang in Gotham City, though."

"Look, I know this is your way of trying to cope with your best friend getting beat half to hell, but it's not helping _me_."

"Funny," Blink smirked. "What _does_ help you cope?"

Spot scowled darkly at him. "I think I preferred his pacing to your talking."

"Sorry." Blink pointed to his ankle. "Darren kinda put my leg outta commission."

"I freakin' _told_ you, man."

Blink considered this for a moment before responding. "Okay, maybe _that_ was a stupid move. But it's still not as stupid as _this_. Besides, we all know you ain't perfect, yourself."

"I have my own issues, and my issues are my business," Spot growled. "Fortunately for _me_, they don't involve being a bonehead like yours do."

With an exaggerated sigh, Blink rose as best he could and limped to the door, muttering under his breath the whole way. Just before stepping into the hall, he turned around. "Hey, Spot? There's some redhead in a wheelchair here to see you and Race. And _she_ didn't do anything stupid, either. Think about _that_."

Spot sank heavily into the chair as Barbara wheeled through the doorway with a bemused grin on her face. "What was that about?"

"Nothing." He leaned forward and put his face in his hands, letting out a shuddering sigh as he did so.

"He's not looking too good," she observed softly. "Is his breathing always like that?"

He shook his head. "Not until last winter. He got hit real bad with the flu, hasn't been the same since. Broken ribs didn't help."

They sat in silence for a while, his gaze on the bed and hers on his hunched form. "You feel guilty," she said at last. It was a statement, not a question.

He didn't respond for several moments, but when he did, his voice was dark and cold. "I told him I was okay to go out. You heard me tell him I was ready. I _wasn't_ ready. I froze!"

"You didn't freeze. From what I heard, you held yourself back—"

"I made a mistake," he said quickly, cutting her off. "I made a drastic mistake, and now Tim may die because of it." Drawing a shaky breath, he rested his chin on his tightly folded hands. "Wouldn't you feel a little guilty about that?"

"This wasn't your fault," she replied forcefully. "If anything, you did the _right_ thing. You realized you weren't ready to take Demon without letting your need for revenge get in the way. And you walked away from it." He shook his head angrily and turned away from her, but she caught his face in her hand and brought his gaze back to hers. "_He_ was stupid enough to get Demon mad at him. _He_ put himself in that position. _You_ did not. Think of it this way. If you had stopped Demon, if you had saved Tim… What would have become of _you_?"

"I'm sure that's not how Bruce sees it."

"Of course it is! He's proud of you, he just… doesn't know how to show it." He gave her a skeptical look. "Hey, where do you think I heard about it in the first place?"

They both glanced up suddenly when they noticed a shadow in the open doorway. Bruce stood there, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded almost uneasily. "Dick," he said slowly. "I'm sorry. You did the right thing. She's right, I _am_ proud of you. And… I want you to know there's nothing more you could have possibly done. If nothing else, you probably saved his life."

Spot nodded gratefully and shifted his gaze back to Racetrack. It seemed as if one weight was lifting from his shoulders while another one settled quietly into its place. He folded his hands in front of him and leaned his elbows heavily on his knees, an empty smirk tugging at his mouth. "We've come a long way, haven't we, Cowboy?"

Bruce gave a hollow smile in return, nodding to himself. "Yes we have, Spot," he replied, sincerity filling every word. "Yes we have."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo... I think that's the longest one yet. I almost cut it short in several places, but I didn't want to leave things hanging for the next chapter, cuz the plot will actually progress in the next one. This was kinda one of those "here's the answer to the cliff hanger and a break from all the intense, dark action before we dive right back in again" things. Oh, and guess what? My characters are evolving! I've never had that actually happen in a story before. Ever. Not to this extent, anyway. Anyhow, I'm going to Florida for youth camp. We leave Sunday morning, won't be back until late next Sunday night, and I'm only allowed a phone because I'm the only leader with cell service down there. So sadly, you will not have an update from me before then. I am bringing a notebook, though, so look forward to possibly a new chapter very soon after I get back. Until then, can't wait to hear from you guys, and keep Carryin' the Banner! Btw, if the whole situation with the underworld seemed sketchy and vague, it's supposed to be. After this story is finished, I'll be doing a companion piece called Take a Dive that explains what all was going on...


	12. Moving Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmph. So I'm back from camp. It was so much fun, and I got so sunburnt, but I came home with two hermit crabs named Anthony and Carlos el Cangrejo (which is crab in spanish, in case you were wondering). My sister named the second one, and I have nicknamed them Race and Itey, respectively. Anyhow, this story is beginning to annoy me to some degree. Particularly because every time I try to write a chapter by the outline, it ends up being ridiculously long and not actually going where I wanted it to. I know I promised more action, but it would appear that is being held off until next chapter. Sorry, guys. I hope you all like it anyway, even though I'm really not that worried about it. Oh crap, I'm late for rehearsal... Enjoy!

_It took dem several weeks ta round everybody up, though a'course dey never caught Rhino or Demon. What wit' da riot, I figured Rhino at least wouldn't blame me for it. My only concern was what Cowboy planned ta do wit' me._

_Blink recovered from his own injuries shortly afta I finally came to, an' dey pulled a stunt dat would never work again. While Blink went wit' Bruce ta da Lower East End, Spot led da charge into Murder Alley. Neither gang knew what hit 'em. Blink, of course, was ecstatic 'bout gettin' his first real trial run as Robin._

_I think it was den dat Spot really realized just how far he'd come. We'd all seen da small changes, but he really saw da improvement when he's up against da Murder Alley Gang wit' nuttin' but da GCPD ta back him up. I'd guesss da feelin' was somethin' similar ta puttin' alla your money on a bet dat you's not too sure of an' windin' up on top. An' for once he weren't arrogant 'bout it._

_Soon's dey was done roundin' up da gangs, though, I really did catch it. Dere was no end'a looks an' comments from Spot an' Blink. But da worst was da lecture Cowboy gave me. Startin' out, I resented him for it. But da more he talked, da more I realized how truly concerned he was. Still, no amount of concern could ever make up for his betrayal. In a way, I think I resented him more for it._

_It didn't help dat Spot was really startin' ta pull away. I dunno if he was mad at me, or if it was just Oracle, but he was spendin' less time wit' us an' more time wit' her. Dat on top'a Blink's trainin' really kinda made me feel isolated. I's beginnin' ta wonder why dey kept me aroun'._

_Da worst, though, was when Spot started talkin' 'bout leavin'…_

* * *

The harsh light from Oracle's computer lit up her face as she intently scanned the various readouts. A dark shadow stood in the doorway, watching her, but she didn't acknowledge it for several silent moments. Finally, with an air of something bordering on impatience, the dark figure slunk forward to stand behind her chair. A faint grin crossed her face, but she never took her eyes off the screen. "You're out of the mansion," she intoned casually. "That must mean Tim's finally awake."

The figure sighed and shook its head, stepping just close enough to the artificial light to reveal a set of ice-blue eyes behind a black domino mask. "More or less," Robin replied wearily. "He's still sleepin' a lot, and he's in a lot of pain when he's awake, but at least he's conscious."

A small blip appeared on the map that took up the majority of one of the screens. Oracle tapped several keys to bring up the data readout, then dismissed the information in disappointment. "You're not still feeling guilty about it, are you?" she asked.

He shook his head slowly, letting his eyes drift over the screens for a moment. "Not so much. I'm worried about him, though. Bruce and Alfred are going to try to get him to quit smoking, 'cuz of his lungs and all. He ain't gonna like that one bit."

"Well, if it's for his own good…" She trailed off distractedly as another marker lit up on the map.

"He's never done anything simply because it was 'for his own good'," he scoffed bitterly. A third marker came up on the map, and he leaned in close to examine it as Oracle tapped away at her keyboard. "What you up to?"

"I'm _trying_ to get a lock on Demon's location," she answered with a frustrated huff. "So far he's been pretty elusive. No one seems able to get any kind of solid lead."

"Maybe he's skipped town."

"It's possible." Again, she trailed off absently, searching the computer screens. "Here," she mused after a moment. "Best lead we've got is in Blüdhaven, actually."

Robin straightened, his lips pursing into a firm line. "Alright. Let's go then."

"Woah, there, cowboy." One hand still on the keyboard, she held up the other to stop him in his tracks. "Bruce doesn't usually like to go stomping around in someone else's territory."

"So whose territory is it then? We'll call them."

A data file on Blüdhaven appeared on the main screen. "So far, nobody's," she replied, scanning the info. "Their police department is heavily mired in some serious corruption issues, though. I highly doubt we'd make much legal headway, and there'd be no going in at this point without stirring up some trouble."

With a frustrated sigh, he slapped his hand down on the oversized desk. "We can't just let him get away like this, Babs," he pleaded. "We have to do something."

"I know, Dick," she soothed gently. "I know. But the only way to do it at this point is if someone went in and claimed the territory permanently."

A bitter tone laced his voice as he shoved away from the desk and started walking toward the door. "Then it's hopeless. Nobody'll go for that."

She nodded in agreement. "Everybody wants a piece of Gotham. Not even Huntress would make the move. Unless…" A brief silence hung in the air between them as something in her tone made him stop and turn back. With some hesitancy, she turned to face him for the first time. "You could do it," she suggested softly.

A decidedly shocked expression settled on Dick's features. "Me? No. No, I'm… I'm Bruce's partner. I can't just up and leave like that."

"He's already training Jason to take your place," she reasoned. "And you work well on your own. You proved that well enough when you went after Rhino's gang in Murder Alley."

"We still never caught Rhino, either."

"So? You did well all the same, and Demon is most definitely the more dangerous of the two. We need someone to bring him in before he causes any more trouble or hurts anyone else, and right now this is the only option. It's the best lead we've got."

Dick gave an exasperated sigh and dropped his gaze to the ground, as if searching for some other excuse there. "I can't leave them," he said quietly, shaking his head. It sounded weak to him, but it was the only reason he could think of, and oddly the one that stood out the most to him. "They're the only family I've got. I can't just leave them like that."

Barbara shook her head firmly, a defiant confidence shining in her eyes. "You wouldn't be abandoning them, Dick. You'd be helping them."

* * *

Race hobbled shakily into the kitchen. It had been several months since the incident, but he was finally up on his own two feet. Well, sort of. He still required the use of a crutch to get around since his entire left leg had been shattered, and most of the upper levels of the mansion were currently out of the question. But he was finally out of bed, and that was all that mattered.

Blink was seated comfortably on the counter with a carton of ice cream, contentedly shoveling the frozen concoction into his mouth with a spoon. As Race pushed his way in the door, he made an acknowledging sound in the back of his throat and went right back to work.

"Hey, hey! Leave some'a dat fer dose'a us dat needs it," Race slurred out, his accent coming through particularly thick. After being out cold for three weeks straight and then only partially conscious for another couple months, he was still recovering. In fact, he'd only just been able to form a coherent sentence about a week ago. The fact that most of his throat was scratched and swollen didn't help much.

"You don't need nuttin' but a good rest," Blink muttered, his mouth full. "And maybe a smack in the head for idiocy," he added once he'd swallowed.

Race glared at him, but ignored the last comment. "I been mos'ly asleep fer… How long was it?"

"Two, three months maybe?" Blink shrugged indifferently. "I dunno, I lost count."

"Whaddever." Race absently waved his free hand, brushing the petty details aside. "Point is, I stay in'at bed much longer'n I'ma go crazy."

"You're already crazy, Tim."

"M'not."

With a sigh, Blink set the carton aside and leaned forward, grabbing the front of the counter to balance himself. "Look, I dunno _what_ was goin' through your head, and frankly I don't think I care at this point. The fact of the matter is, what you did was stupid. Extremely stupid. Like, I know we've all done our share of stupid things, but yours is the mother of all stupidity. I told you, _no one_ takes a shortcut through Murder Alley. And of course, you couldn't just stop at 'taking a shortcut', no, you had to go and get yourself involved with a gang. And to top it all off, you found yourself stuck between the two nastiest thugs in Gotham City. Real smart, Race. Of course you're not crazy. Real sharp." He scowled and rubbed at his right eye in frustration.

"I di'n as' fer dis."

"No, you didn't. But you didn't avoid it very well, either. Don't you get it?"

Race heaved a small sigh and limped over to a chair at the table. His head was starting to spin a little. "I get it, Blink. I get it. It was stupid. C'n ya drop it, maybe? Ain't like it's da end'a da world or nuttin'."

Blink dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head. "No, you don't get it. You go on and on about how Bruce lied to us, but you lied to us, too. Ya realize that? You told Spot you'd get it taken care of, so we _didn't_ go to Bruce about it, and the next thing we know we find you face-down in some alley—"

"I di'n as' fer dis!" Race repeated, much louder this time. He winced at the sharp pain it brought to his head and went on in a softer tone. "Ya think I wanted t'ings ta go's far's dey did? It got outta han', a'right?"

"What got out of hand, Race? What exactly went on down there? What the _hell_ did you do that almost got you killed? Because I know you, Race. You're not a criminal. And yet, somehow, you managed to get the most dangerous thug in Gotham City angry enough at you to want you dead. I can't help but wonder how."

There was silence between them for several moments as Race let his gaze wander to the other side of the room. Then finally, without looking at Blink, he muttered, "You's right ta begin wit', you an' Spot. It was a bad idea. What more ya want from me?"

Blink drew a deep breath. "I want you to promise me that it won't happen again."

"Can't," Race said simply.

"What do you mean, _can't_?"

"I mean I can't promise ya dat. I c'n try'n stay outta trouble, but Rhino's got me. I can't promise ya I won't go back ta work fer him if he… asks. He gots ways'a convincin' a fella ta do t'ings."

Silence once again descended on the pair as Blink reluctantly picked up the carton of ice cream and started digging absently with his spoon. Suddenly he didn't have much of an appetite. He let out a deep sigh and just sat there for a moment, listening to Race's shallow breathing and the ominous ticking of the wall clock before finally attempting some change of subject. "So I don't know if you'd heard yet," he began awkwardly, "but Bruce's got me takin' Dick's place starting next week."

"Where's Spot goin'?"

"Blüdhaven, apparently."

"What?"

Blink just shook his head. "You know him. Never been much of one to stay under anyone else's authority for long. Babs is startin' him out here in Gotham as some new cape, and once he's got the experience he needs, he's headin' out to Blüdhaven to follow some leads they got on Demon."

A scowl began to form on the Italian's face. "Sure, use Demon as an excuse ta up'n leave."

"Race, would ya quit thinkin' 'bout yourself for once? That's all ya done since we got here. He ain't walkin' out on you. He's doin' this _for_ you, numbskull."

"Don't I wish," Race groaned, rubbing at his temples with one hand. "Ya know, speakin'a which, you's not so sympathetic's ya should be."

"Hey, you got yourself into this mess," Blink replied dismissively. "Far's I can see, you deserve every second of it."

Race groaned again and slumped in his chair. "S'not fair," he mumbled.

Blink chuckled as he hopped off the counter. "C'mon, let's get you back to bed."

* * *

"Nightwing?"

Spot nodded as he ran his hands over the black and blue uniform that Alfred had just finished with. "A shadow in the dark," he murmured, half to himself. "The criminals of this city won't know what hit 'em."

"It's a big step," Bruce commented.

"I know. That's why I took a different name, a different uniform. To symbolize that."

There was a pause as Bruce hung the Robin uniform in its place beside his. "You think Jason's ready?"

"I think so," Spot replied with another nod. "But even if he's not… Well, it's not like I was entirely ready either."

"Then I just have one more question for you."

"What's that?"

"Are _you_ ready? To go out on your own, I mean."

A slow smile spread on the younger man's face as his blue eyes came up, confidence shining out clearly even in the dark of the cave. "I was born ready, Bruce."


	13. Disappearing Act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Yeah, it's been awhile. I got a little lazy. So shoot me. Anyhow. Um... Yeah. This chapter was probably one of my favorites to write. Or, at least the first part was. The second part was one of those trudging-through-just-to-keep-the-story-moving kinda scenes. At any rate, though, this is going up much sooner than I anticipated, because there was supposed to be another scene at the end, but I realized that I'd better save it for next chapter because I don't know how much material I'm actually going to end up covering in that chapter. We're winding down toward the end here, and my plot is still making minor, subtle, unexpected changes on me. Got to one of my little minor plot points at the end here and went, "Huh... Well, I actually don't know how to do that realistically... Well, crap, now what?" But we're so far advanced in the plot now that nothing major is going to change, so don't worry. Just little technical things that keep it running smoothly.
> 
> I probably should have waited and revised the end of this chapter, but I'm way too lazy for that. But hey, at least I remembered that the opening monologue was still unfinished before I posted it! Btw, if you haven't burst into song by the end of the first scene, there's something wrong with you...

_Things really started lookin' up afta dat. Afta anudder month or so, da comments dey made started bein less accusatory an' more'a just an inside joke. Which, a'course, was perfectly a'right by me. My leg healed up in 'bout dat time, too. Man, it felt good ta be up an' about on my own two feet fer once._

_'Bout dis time, too, da school year was startin' ta wind down to a close. It was hard ta b'lieve we'd been in dis city fer near to a full year already. So much'd changed in dat time. We'd all t'ree'a us grown a heckuva lot since dat first day we walked into da mansion. Whether in a good way or not, we's alla us much different from da kids dat'd left New York City wit' Cowboy outta curiosity. Course, me, I was still tryin' somethin' desperate ta hold onto my feelins'a betrayal an' all. S'just da way I am. Sure was gettin' hard, though._

_We still gave Bruce all kinds'a trouble every opportunity we got. But even dat was different. It was less 'bout simply givin' him a hard time an' more 'bout maintainin' some sense'a familiar normalcy. For prob'ly da first time since we'd come ta Gotham – actually, since da strike, really – things was gettin' back to da way dey's always been. But, a'course, things don't ever really stay dat way…_

* * *

There were any number of bathrooms in Wayne Manor that could be used for morning routines, but the boys insisted on using the same one every time – all at once, if they could manage it. The familiarity and habit seemed to have some comforting qualities. It was on the second floor, directly across the hall from Bruce's bedroom. The general rule of the house was that no one made any kind of noise anywhere in that vicinity before noon. Naturally, this meant that the boys had an unspoken mutual agreement to make as much noise as was humanly possible.

On this particular morning, however, that agreement was coming dangerously close to being broken. Spot hopped into the oversized bathroom on one foot, pulling on a sock and grumbling as he did so. After a long, late night of patrolling the Narrows, he'd been rather rudely awakened at the crack of dawn by a loud pounding on his bedroom door, followed closely by shouting and the sounds of a scuffle. The two crooks responsible were now jostling for position at the single sink. And raising quite a racket doing it.

"Dat's my comb!"

"It is not, either."

"I swear, if ya leave yer greasy, tangled mess in my comb again, I'll—"

"It's not your comb."

Race snatched the comb unceremoniously from Blink's grasp as the blonde moved to splash water on his face. "On da subject'a t'ings'a mine goin' missin'," the Italian went on pointedly, "I had a cigar on my nightstand last night dat weren't dere when I woke up dis mornin'."

Blink just shrugged. "Maybe Bruce took it again? Though I'm not sure why he bothers sometimes. You always find a way of snagging another one from who-knows-where."

"Tim, you know you ain't in any condition to be smokin' anyway," Spot muttered, grabbing his toothbrush and making sure to place himself well out of reach of any stray blows that might come his way.

"Who made _you_ me mudder?"

"Nobody," Blink smirked. "He's self-appointed." Spot gave him a swift smack to the back of the head and he, in turn, smacked Race. "He is right, though," he offered by way of explanation. "You really shouldn't be smoking."

"Why don'tcha mind yer own business?" Race growled, giving Blink a shove to emphasize his point. Blink just laughed and pushed him back. Something had him in an uncharacteristically good mood this morning.

"Hey, break it up, you two. Tim, quit your whining."

"Nobody ast you, Spot."

With a shrug, Spot turned to Blink. "So Oracle's got me hunting down Catwoman after that museum robbery last night. Any clue where I should start looking?"

Blink answered with a shrug of his own. "Crime Alley, maybe? I heard she's been sighted down there a lot. Or maybe down at the docks."

Race shook his head, pushing the comb through a tangle of dark locks. "Park."

"What?"

"Wayne Memorial Park. She's gotta stash dere. Dat's where she goes ta hole up after a heist."

"Well there ya go," Blink said brightly. "The chief authority on underworld dealings has spoken. Smells like jackpot to me."

"That's _if_ you don't foul it up for me."

"How's that?"

Race chuckled and shouldered Blink aside to wash his face. Spot grinned. "You're goin' with me, Jason."

"Seriously?" Blink groaned. "Ah, c'mon, Dick. I was gonna take Isabelle out for dinner tonight."

"That foreign exchange student? Didn't you _just_ meet her yesterday?"

"So shoot me. We hit it off really well. Tim, keep your arm to yourself where it belongs." Race ignored the comment and continued reaching across him. "I _said_, get your elbow out of my face!"

"I _will_, if ya pass me dat towel ya got hangin' over dere!"

Blink shoved him good-naturedly and, grabbing the towel off the wall rack, jumped up onto the marble shelf beside the tub. "How much you willing to pay for it?" he taunted.

Spot laughed as he grabbed the towel and handed it to Race. Life was starting to get back to some kind of normal. And that was just fine with him.

The three boys finally tumbled out of the bathroom and made their way down the hall, shouting and tussling the whole way. When they reached the grand staircase that led to the foyer, Race slid down the wide banister. His left leg was still a little weak, so he usually took the service stairs that led straight to the kitchen, since they were carpeted. But on some days he simply made do with what he had.

When they burst into the kitchen – in much the same fashion as when they'd exited the bathroom – Alfred already had breakfast laid out for them. There was a fair amount of pushing and shoving as they settled in around the table to eat.

"Hey, Al," Blink greeted the old butler cheerfully, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. "You know where Bruce is?"

"We didn't hear no shoutin' from da bedroom dis mornin'," Race explained, reaching for the nearly-empty pitcher as soon as Blink was done. "Oh sure," he mumbled as he poured the remains into his glass. "Just leave me half'a glass, why don'tcha."

Alfred smiled and shook his head in amusement as he took out a second pitcher. "I'm afraid Master Bruce is out of town on business. As I understand it," he commented, turning to Spot, "you and Master Jason here are free as a pair of fish this evening after school."

Spot nodded. "Yeah, Oracle's got us goin' after Catwoman on our own. Tim here gave us the angle, so it shouldn't take too long."

"Speakin'a angles," Race said around a mouthful of his muffin, "anybody else havin' trouble wit' dis geometry test?"

"Of course not," Blink scoffed. "We all know Dick's a whiz with that stuff."

With a shrug and a modest smile, Spot turned his attention back to his food.

* * *

Nightwing kicked out as he reached the bottom arc of his swing, feeling the grappling cable tense as his weight shifted forward. Just before the cable reached the end of its arc, his thumb flipped over the retracting mechanism and he pushed his feet up over his head, putting himself into a backwards flip in midair. His breath caught in his throat as his head came back up and he waited to feel the familiar solidity of concrete beneath him.

For a moment, he just stood with his eyes closed and breathed deeply, feeling the harsh wind whip around him as it gusted over the buildings. There was the faint sound of stuttering footsteps as Robin made an unsteady landing beside him. He cracked a smile as he opened his eyes to scan the park below them. "Someone hasn't been practicing."

"Shut up," Robin muttered, crouching behind the ledge at the far edge of the rooftop, his eyes sweeping the streets below. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "There was a gust of wind."

"Right. Sure." Nightwing rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the park. "See anything?"

"Not a trace. And it's getting pretty late. According to Tim's info, she should be here by now."

There was no response for a moment, just a small nod of agreement. "It's not like he'd set us up or anything," Nightwing mused to himself.

"But _she_ might," Robin pointed out.

The uneasy silence was suddenly broken by a soft, electronic sound coming from the alert beacon on Nightwing's belt. The boys exchanged a glance, and then a moment later Robin's alert went off as well. The older boy let out an apprehensive breath. "Something's wrong."

It took them maybe fifteen minutes to reach the Clocktower. More than enough time for them both to think up various scenarios and to wish that Oracle had finished with the four-way communicators already. Coordinating was difficult when the only means of communication you had was an emergency alert. When they finally made it up to Oracle's computer room, they found Batman already there. Oracle was playing a recorded phonecall, which the boys missed the beginning of, and didn't acknowledge them as they walked in. But the urgency of the situation was immediately understood when they heard what Bruce was listening to.

"…didn't do it dis time, I swear. Ya gotta b'lieve me, okay? I didn't go lookin' for it. A'right? Dey… dey foun' _me_. Man… I _told_ ya, Jason, I couldn't make no promises… Look, I'm… I'm sorry. Ya hear me, I'm sorry. Dey think… Dey think I's connected ta dis… dis Batman character somehow, an' I told 'em I ain't, but dey just ain't _listenin'_. Bruce, ya… Ya gotta get me outta dis, please. Look, I know I—"

There was sickening smack, followed by a muffled yelp, and then a harsher voice came over the speakers. "This sorry piece of street trash double-crossed me, Mr. Wayne. It's my understandin' that he's a close friend'a yours. Now the odd thing is, Batman's the one that picked him up the night I left him for dead in that alley. Any other street kid, an' he wouldn't'a bothered. So it stands to reason that you're pretty close friends with the Bat yourself.

"So here's my proposal. You ever wanna see the little runt again, you tell your Bat friend to bring the ransom money to the Gotham docks Saturday night at ten-thirty, on the dot. I hope you was payin' mighty close attention when the kid gave you the amount earlier, cuz if it ain't all there, I can't guarantee he will be, either." There was a brief pause for emphasis before the voice continued. "Oh, an' make sure he comes _alone_. Or things might get interestin'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so gonna do the entire chapter as a mirror to "Carryin' the Banner", but it just didn't work out and I didn't want it to end up just being corny. As you will see next chapter, the little bits in there (namely the whole thing with chasing down Catwoman) actually fit into the plot, so anything else woulda just been silly. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! I can't wait to hear from you guys! And hopefully the next chapter won't be so long in coming. Sorry to leave you guys hanging...


End file.
